
I 



I 

5 





Class 
Book. 



1 r* 



"O. 



Copyright ]J^__. 



^/^ 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



POEMS 



Br 

WILLIAM A. QUAYLE 



t 



CINCINNATI: JENNINGS AND GRAHAM 
NEW YORK: EATON AND MAINS 









^ ^ •^V^kx'^ 



COPTBIGHT, 1914, 

BY William A. Qcatle 



JUL 27 1914 

©CI,A3 7i9 5 2 



Contents 



Page 

Love Comes, 15 

My Prayer, 16 

An Autumn Camp, 17 

A Dream, -------- 18 

Not Bound, But Free, 19 

The Spring Wind, 20 

A Hymn of Reform, 21 

The Poor Man's Prayer, - - - - 22 

The Poet, 22 

To Serve To-day, 23 

Kismet, 24 

The Wings at Night, 25 

A Thought of Life, 26 

God's Better Things, 27 

A Battle Dream, 28 

The Will of God, - - - - - - 29 

A Quatrain, - -29 

The Violet Saith, 30 

Trust, 30 

The Storm, 31 

The Summer Wind, 32 

The Nightless Day, 32 

On Window-Panes, 33 

3 



Page 

The Shadows Lengthen; It Will Soon Be Night, 34 

A Song of the Journey, - - - - - 35 

The Snow at Night, 37 

When Twilight Beckons Back Her Stars, - 38 

A-Fishing, 39 

The Song, 40 

Mother, 41 

A Pact With Death, 43 

The Sea-Wreck, - 44 

An Angel Said, 45 

When Autumn Fades, 46 

Unafraid, 47 

At Holiday, 48 

Sonnet, 52 

Voices, 53 

The Bending of the Bow, - - - - 54 

The Autumn Wind, 56 

The Victor, 57 

I^i'EEL the Hill Winds on My Cheek, - 57 

Sin, 58 

When April Heals Wild Winter's Scars, - 60 

God's Symphony, 60 

Thou Art My Lord, 61 

When Love Is Gone, 62 

Good-Night, 62 

4 



Page 

The North Wind, 63 

The Heart-Cry, 63 

Bereft, 64 

Beside the Sea, - 65 

The Soul, 66 

Blow, Wind of God, 67 

My Torch, - - 68 

Afterwhiles, 68 

Haste, My Hand, - - - . . - 69 

The Grapes Which Grew on Thorny Stems, 70 

A Son of the Vikings, I 71 

An Arrow, 72 

Desert Goldenrod, 73 

Uphill, 74 

The Hills of God 75 

The Wind of God, 76 

Too Late, 77 

The Music of Running Water, - - - 78 

A Hymn at Christmas, 80 

My Rosary, 81 

The Dreamer, 82 

Toward Manhood, 82 

Unlonely Loneliness, 83 

Sea Sonnets, 84 

A Quatrain, 86 

5 



Page 

The Ford, - - 87 

The Wistful Years, 88 

If, - 89 

When All My Life is Gathered in a Sheaf, - 90 

Slain, 91 

Dear Heart, 92 

Mistaken, 92 

The Clouds, 93 

The Hill of Loss, ------ 94 

Unfaith, - - 95 

On the Stair, 96 

To Bring to Morn the Day for Which Earth 
Yearned, - - - -- - - 97 

Enough, 98 

This, I Said, 99 

I Lie Amidst Red Clover Blooms, - - - 100 

Soul Loquitur, 100 

Who Quireth Now Along the Hills, - - - 101 
The Harp That Once Was Mine, - - - 102 

Beside a Brook, 103 

Who Lit Yon Star? 103 

Sonnet, 104 

A Man I Knew, 104 

The Tiger Flower, 105 

6 



Page 

A Lullaby, 106 

The Building of the Hut, 108 

Harvestless, - -110 

Wild Clematis, 110 

My God, to Thee, Ill 

Spring Cometh, Ill 

She Wore a Kertle Willow-green, - - 112 
Fain Would I Listen in the Hush of Bells, - 113 

MoRiTURUs Saluto, 114 

The Wistful Days, -114 

Eastertide, 115 

Morning on Eastward Mountains, - - - 116 

December-June, - 116 

I Love Thy Cross, 117 

Beset, -._ ng 

Forecast, 119 

The Sea in Sleep, -119 

A Hymn of Serving, ------ 120 

No Night is There, 121 

Forgive Me, Lord, 122 

I Care Not, 123 

He Loved the Dusk, 124 

A Work Song, 126 

The Sparrow, 127 

When Spring Comes Home, - - - - 128 

7 



Page 

A Prayer, 130 

Violets, 131 

I Saw the Christ Where Battle Shocked, - - 132 

My Home, 133 

Lord of Need, for Thee I Grope! - - - 134 

A Father's Grave, 135 

The Voices, 136 

Hope, 137 

1 Work My Work — Three Sonnets, - - - 138 

I Met Old Care, - 140 

Old Care Met Christ, 142 

Sonnet, 143 

Prairie Wind, 144 

October, --- 145 

Lord, to be Kept, 146 

I Saw a Boat at Anchor on a Bay, - - 147 

Fearfulness Makes Estimate of Himself, - 148 

The Martyr, - - - - - - - 150 

My Prairies, 151 

Friend, Rest Thee! 153 

Sea! 154 

At Night, 155 

1 Plucked a Feather from an Eagle's Wing - 156 
Nor Reckoned on the Miracle of Spring, - 157 
Not Here, -------- 158 

8 



Page 

The Poet's Thoughts, 159 

When Doubts Arise, ------ 160 

Life Dawdled with Me Smiling Many a Year, 161 
Far Went the Road and Winding, - - _ 162 

The Hand of God, 164 

The Hush of Evening Settles on My Heart, - 165 

A Summer Night, 166 

Across All Worlds I Think One Day to Stride, 168 
I Know a Glorious Mountain Where the Day, 169 
This Day I Front Me on Eternity, - - - 170 

I Rest, Content, 171 

I Climb the Hills, 172 

I Think of Him, 173 

Heart's Desire, 174 

I Saw the Leader of an Orchestra, - - 175 
I Know a Wildwood Coppice, - - - - 176 
Great Swordless Captain, - - - - 178 

Out of the Deeps, 179 

The Vapor Spoke, 180 

An Easter Hymn, 181 

The Return, 182 

I Found a Broken Harp Upon the Ground, - 183 

An Angel Came, 184 

Beyond the Gates, 185 

The Tavern of the Comforted, - - - 186 

9 



Page 

Life, Be Stern, 188 

A Hymn, 190 

Wings, 191 

Along the Ceilings of My Being's Rooms, - 192 

All's Well, 193 

Child Dreams, 194 

The Blessed Book, 195 

Hymn, 196 

1 Saw an Angel With a Smiling Face, - - 197 
Then God Takes a Hand, _ . - - 198 
I Saw the Swift Evanishment of Night, - - 199 

Thou Shalt Not, 200 

A Resurrection Song, 202 

The Desert Journey, 203 

Where Lies That Land? 205 

I Stood at Bay Among Tall, Ragged Peaks, - 207 

Thy City, Lord, 208 

Shakespeare, - - 209 

My Life Walks Out Into the Dawn, - - - 210 

My Soul, One Question, 211 

Ulysses and the Sea, 212 

The Years, 215 

When Through the Dark I Grope, - - - 216 

Trust, 217 

The Welcome, 218 

10 



Page 

Fear Not, 219 

God Cares for Thee, 220 

Light at Eventide, 221 

There is Dusk for the Day, . _ _ _ 221 
As One Who Tugged at by the Sleeve Awakes, 222 
The Christ, 223 



11 



oems 



Vy T] 



Love Comes 

Before the Coming 

am weary, weary!" 
The weary watcher said. 
"My life is dreary, dreary: 
Grief stabs and Hope is deado 

"Oh, I am weary, weary! 
Nor know I where to turn, 
Life is so very dreary; 
I sigh and sob and yearn. 

"Oh, I am weary, weary! 

The sad sea's toss and flow 
Are not so dreary, dreary. 
As my insistent woe." 

Love Comes 

"Now I am weary, weary. 

But laugh and call and sing: 
Life is not dreary, dreary. 
But gracious as the Spring." 



15 



My Prayer 

10RD of my mercies, let my prayer 
-^ Engage Thy heart. Thou knowest where 
And how I dwell and what my need, 
What wounds I bear and how they bleed. 

Thou knowest how my battle fares. 
What shame betimes its banner wears: 
But how, although amiss I fight, 
Thee ever, only Thee, I sight. 

O Helper God, O Christ divine, 
Fight Thou within this heart of mine; 
Since if Thou dost my battle share. 
My banner shall God's triumph wear. 



16 



An Autumn Camp 

UPON a windy autumn hill 
I camp among the blowing leaves, 
That whirl and fall and sadly fill 
The hollows and the empty nests. 
All day winds whimper through the trees 
With plaintive lonesomeness of tune; 
All day the wistful sunlight flees 
As from a huntsman on its track. 
The hill is crowned with solemn woods, 
Some naked as a sheathless sword. 
Some glorious as with fiery hoods 
That holy, ancient martyrs wore. 
Some, piebald greens and golds and reds, 
A chequer work of radiant dyes 
Like tapestries of gorgeous shreds 
And meant to pave the autumn floors. 
The clouds are like a flock of swans 
That slowly wheel to voyage south. 
And ere another morning dawns 
Will vanish, to appear no more. 
My fire is built with branch and leaves 
The winds have hacked from burly trunks; 
And while the wind, unceasing, grieves. 
The fire emits its fragrant smoke 

2 17 



Which whirls, in eddies slow and blue, 

Uneager to escape the place. 

And sails my little coppice through 

Like some dim sky that slants and falls. 

And in the night the moon is bright 

And slowly smiles from sky to sky; 

And all the middle night has light 

That streams through slumbers dreamily. 

And all the night the wild winds walk 

Across the tree-tops like the waves, 

And interchange melodious talk 

Like dialogues of Plato's days. 

The habitable world is lost 

Upon this lonesome autumn hill. 

And care-full cares are plucked and tost 

Like leaves upon a hurrying stream. 



A D 



ream 



I 



DREAMED I held the hand of God 

Across my heart at rest. 
And felt that peace whose storm is calm 

Hold kingship in my breast. 



18 



I 



Not Bound But Free 

N truth, we cast not dice 

In shuffler's hand, the price 
Of outcome good or bad, 
The only to be had. 

Nay ! not a dice-box chance, 
But forged sword or lance. 
To win the war we wage 
To be the prince or sage. 

Not blind Fate owns the sky: 
God wills we live, not die. 
We plow and tend the earth 
While God and we grow worth. 

Not on our neck the heel 
That tramples dead our weal, 
But in our hand the rod 
Bequeathed to us of God. 

And Omar's tavern gray. 
With Death and Life at play, 
Is not our hostelry — 
We be high-born and free. 

19 



Not red rose but white flower 
Henceforth shall be our dower. 
We challenge war with Fate 
And take the road elate. 



o 



The Spring Wind 

H, I am like the shimmer 
Of sunlight on the wheat! 

My voices, they are dimmer 
Than lovers', when they meet. 

My feet are further going 

Than waves that walk the sea; 

The wild-flowers are a-blowing 
And laugh out loud for me. 

Oh, I am Springtime's lover, 
That wooes with kisses swift, 

And flowers like blushes cover 
Where, late, pale snows did drift. 

Oh, I am called the Spring W^ind, 
And am in naught forlorn, 

And am unto the stars kinned. 
And to the dewy morn! 

20 



.«.**'• 



A Hymn of Reform 

nPHOU who didst bring, in days of old, 
•■• God's message from above, 

Dwell in our hearts, lest they grow cold, 
Forgetful of Thy love. 

Thou Fire of God, for Thee we pray 

Our sacrifice to burn. 
So that the thing we do this day 

May God's approval earn. 

For Thou hast made us, in our day. 

Reformers of the world — 
Elijahs who, with Ahabs, may 

Into the fight be hurled. 

As with Elijah, long ago, 
Thou didst Thy forces join. 

And make the heedless heathen know 
Thy sword was at Thy loin, 

So join with us and bring our fight 

To a victorious peace; 
Because for Thee, and by Thy might, 

We war and never cease. 



The Poor Man's Prayer 

A POOR man prayed and fumbled o'er 
His heart's petitions one by one, 
And humbly kneeled upon the floor 
Of rented tenement, where sun 

Hath neither morn nor noon. The damp, 
Ill-smelling room was windowless. 

From month to year he used a lamp 
To read God's Book with a caress. 

This poor man cried; and from the Height 
Of morning hills God heard his prayer. 

And shined upon his heart a light 

Which banished all his want and care. 



A' 



The Poet 

N angel, flying through the sky, 

Let fall a leaf from his heart's book; 

Nor knew his loss, but wondered why 
A shining face from earth did look. 

A Poet, on a day of thought 

Sublime, high-dreamed, and wild-rose flame, 
The falling leaf perceived and caught. 

Transcribed the scroll, and conquered fame. 



I 



To Serve To-day 

F I but serve my day, 
If I can help its May 
To June, then God be praised. 

If only through brief years 
I may wipe sorrow's tears 
Away, then God be praised. 

If on the way I walk, 

I may with kindly talk 

Help men, then God be praised. 

If only while I stay, 

I shall make glad the way 

Of some, then God be praised 

Not immortality 

I crave as boon to me. 

But help for men amazed. 

And blest beyond compare 
Their joy and care to share. 
If so, may God be praised. 

23 



To serve the where I dwell, 
To serve it kindly, well, 
If so, my God be praised. 

Not dateless years to stay. 
But just to serve to-day: 
And thus, may God be praised. 



Kismet 

CAGED bird. 
Thou canst not fly: 
Hope deferred, 
Now sing and die. 



^ 



The Wings at Night 

1 HEARD the beat of wings one night, 
Of wings as strong as winds of storm: 
I felt in them resistless might: 
I guessed their majesty of form. 

I rose and stood beneath the dome 

Of the stooped heavens, that stoop so high, 

While through those spacious spaces roam 
Those wings of angels of the sky. 

Oft had I heard the boom of seas 

Break on a rock-bound, barren coast. 

But never melody like these 
Rejoicing wings of angel host. 



(( 



And whither fly you, wings of night; 
And how far wing you, pinions strong?" 
But these nor tarry in their flight, 
Nor weary though the flight be long. 

I heard the beat of angel wings: 
I heard their pinions music make 

As when a heavenly chorus sings 
And from their spirits music shakes. 

25 



Their flight — the flight of wings of power, 
Though not a word those angels spake— 

Hath helped me many a weary hour 
And made my soul strong courage take. 

To know that while I walk the Earth 
White wings patrol the lofty sky 

Brings to me showers in days of dearth 
And cheer and song of courage high. 



A Thought of Life 

npHE thing I thought was life, 
1 That life was not — 

A transitory cause, 
A scribbler's blot. 

What I thought life was not. 
That thing life was — 
A Glory beyond thought. 
Without a pause. 



m 



M 



God's Better Things 

S one who holds a letter in his hand 

With seal unbroke, and looks away and dreams. 

Both near and far unseen, forgot, while streams 
White light on him and what he holds ; unplanned 
This strange neglect as heartache in a land 

Of spring, though what the letter holds he 
deems 

Of lesser worth and merit; dreaming seems 
Diviner good, beneath whose shade to stand, — 
Thus I, who hold this earthly life a boon 
Worth holding, and worth loving too, do still 
Esteem it of less value than the vast 
Expected life on which I enter soon. 
When earth's schooldays are ended and the thrill 
Of pain and death and resurrection past. 



27 



I 



A Battle Dream 

DREAMED that in a battle I was slain, 

And lay, face downward, with a host of dead. 

The fight still piped its clamorous refrain. 
And living men their precious life-blood shed. 

In death I felt the earth, dead-drunk with blood, 
Ache under all the crush of angry war. 

And felt the charge on charge succeed — a flood — 
And heard the triumph of what I died for. 

And then, though dead, I stumbled to my feet 
And shook my hacked sword in my bleeding 
hand. 

And called, above the roar of guns, *'I greet. 
Though dead, my loved, my liberated land." 

And then I heard the bloody swords seek sheath; 

And all the plunging shots grew mute of breath. 
I felt War's red hands weave a victor's wreath 

To guerdon, with a shout, my brow in death. 



28 



The Will of God 

T^E will of God, that arches all; 
•■• It springs a sky above our hearts, 
And brings into our lives a call 

Which never from our strength departs. 

The will of God, that thunder rolls 
And challenges the lives of men 

In converse with all kindred souls, 
And guides them to a diadem. 

The will of God! The angels bow 
Their shining faces on their hands 

And make to God their holy vow 
To walk the way His will demands. 

The will of God, that bridges Time 

And all eternities to be. 
And makes a universe sublime 

Fit subject of the Deity. 

A Quatrain 

1MIX my tears with songs, 
Because my woes embark 
i~ In righting earth's black wrongs 
And shutting out earth's dark. 
29 



I 



I 



The Violet Saith 

GIVE scant heed," a violet said, 
"Whether to live or to be dead. 
I have one simple ministry 
Which is the sum of life to me. 

I have a call from God to bloom. 
What, after that, are death and tomb? 
My lips have kissed the royal sun; 
When that is come, my race is run.'* 

Trust 

F God wilt stay beside me 

When life's mercies turn to dust, 

Then joy and peace abide me. 
And I dwell in perfect trust. 

Men beat their shields together 
And they think to make me fear; 

But I am careless whether 
I shall journey There or Here. 

If Thou wilt walk beside me, 

Then my heart shall lift its psalm, 

For joy and peace abide me; 
And in storm-time I am calm. 
30 



The Storm 



T, 



HIS way 

The tempest passed, and slew 

The gray 
Tree-multitudes that knew 

Not Death 
By name, but solely thought 

A breath 
Of grandeur swept and caught 

Their hands 
In passing, and would loose 

Their bands 
Of might in kindly truce 

Of storms, 
And they should lift once more 

Their forms 
As in glad days of yore. 

But now 
They know the way of Death, 

And how 
He strikes, nor light nor breath 

Has song. 
From this day forth their sky 

Shall long 
For music till it die. 



The Summer Wind 



o 



MY breath is hot 

With kissing the wheat; 
And my Hps have caught 

Her kisses so fleet. 



The Nightless Day 

'TTHERE is a land of nightless day, 
1 Where gloomy shadows never rise; 
Where twilights come not, dim and gray. 
To shame and darken Glory's skies. 

This is God's Land, His land and mine. 
Of spring-time morning, chaste delight. 

With service radiant and fine. 

Which needs no respite and no night. 

My heart sings glad and wistful hymns, 
What time it foldeth hands to pray; 

But all its lonely longing dims 

While dreaming of this nightless day. 



32 



On Window-Panes 

IN Winter days, on window-panes, 
Fair Summers dream their gladness o'er. 
And grow dim, shadowy, restful lanes 
Of elm tree and of sycamore. 

I watch the glass and, watching, see 

Dear Summers flushed with radiant June, 

And hear the song-bird, wild with glee. 
And insects drone their drowsy tune. 

I see far mountains wrapped in blue. 
And clouds that drift along the sky, 

And valleys where, with variant hue. 

The wild-flowers bloom and, blooming, die. 

I see the shaggy mountains throw 
On high their plumes of oak and pine. 

And roses in hid gardens grow 
Their garlands ruddy as old wine. 

On window-panes ! There Summer springs 
Like lark into deep skies of blue. 

And lifts itself on singing wings 

From meadow nest begemmed with dew. 

33 



Without, the winter-blast sings loud 
And trumpets like an angry bard: 

Within, Spring, with its wind and cloud. 
Drifts incense sweet as precious nard. 



The Shadows Lengthen; It Will Soon 

Be Night 

THE shadows lengthen; it will soon be night. 
Against the western mountains blackness 
crowds. 
Though glory makes the eastern summits bright, 
The stars will soon be flocking, clouds on clouds. 

My shadows lengthen; it will soon be night. 

My groping-call will mingle with the wind. 
Howbeit, I shall clamber, height on height. 

And everlasting sunrise duly find. 



34 



A Song of the Journey 

I AM going on my journey, glad with joy from dawn 
to dark 
With the spirit of the morning and the carol of the 

lark: 
I am drinking at those fountains whence the living 

waters flow, 
I am hearing heaven's music as along my way 

I go. 
And my heart is full of laughter, like the singing of a 

psalm; 
My sky bends blue above me with its winds of 

evening balm; 
And I know not any trouble, for I have the Tempest's 

King 
To change my Winter's fury to the gladness of His 

Spring. 

I have heard my Master calling, and His voice is 

music sweet; 
And He bids me march right forward, nor dream of 

a retreat. 
He says His Land of Beulah lies before me, out of 

sight. 
Where reigns the deathless daylight, never shadowed 

by the night. 

35 



He bids me do my duty, though humble it may be, 
And do what thing Hes nearest in glad humility; 
For Christ is one that serveth, and thinks no service 

mean 
That helps the world's endeavors to help its heart be 

clean. 

So I walk highways and byways; and my hands are 

rough with toil 
As I try to make a garden out of hard, mfertile soil; 
But I see God's flowers a-growing where there grew 

no flowers before; 
And my life is full of gladness, as I work God's 

work the more. 
Bless God! My lot is holy like a temple with its 

calm; 
And I envy not an angel, with his harp-song and his 

palm. 
For I am God's own helper; and He calls me by my 

name. 
And says my work is holy as a sacrificial flame. 

So I go along my journey, glad with joy from dawn 

to dark 
With the spirit of the morning and the carol of the 

lark, 

36 



For I drink at those bright fountains whence the 
living waters flow, 

And I hear heaven's gladsome music as along my 
way I go. 

And my heart is full of laughter, like the singing of a 
psalm ; 

My sky bends blue above me with its wind of even- 
ing balm; 

And I know not any trouble, for I have the Tempest's 
King 

To change my Winter's fury to the gladness of His 
spring. 



The Snow at Night 

nPHE fields and woods are white with dust, 
1 Blown in the night from stars remote, 
That shineth pure like holy trust 
Which good men unto God devote. 



37 



When Twilight Beckons Back Her Stars 

WHEN Twilight beckons back her stars 
Into the blue, unfretted sky, 
And blackbirds from horizon bars 
Unto their nestplace homeward fly, 

Then is the hour for tired hearts 

To lean them toward their rest on God; 

To scan, through tears, the heavenly charts 
That guide them home from far abroad. 

The twilight comes to aching breasts 

That know not how pain's day can cease, 

Nor dream that they may be the guests 
Of the unseen Eternal Peace. 



m 



A-Fishing 

'WEET was the meadow scent, 
^ And blue the sky, 
When we a-fishing went, 
My rod and I. 

Cares stayed at home, in bed, 

While we went free: 
And scurvy care is dead 

To such as we. 

Green was the summer land: 

The air was balm; 
Fair the bleak pine-trees stand: 

My heart was calm. 

Out on the river's rim 

My spirit sings 
Roundels of praise to Him 

Who Summer brings. 

So, while fair morning drifts, 

Fishing I go. 
Down through the green wood's rifts 

Warm sunlights glow. 

39 



Glad laughter takes my hand 

And holds it tight 
As through this summer land 

I stray till night. 



u 



The Song 

P through the heavens 

Flew the lark, free and far: 

Down through the heavens 
Sped his song, like a star. 



40 



Mother 

BEFORE I knew her, she had trod 
Across the rare celestial blue, 
To make her dwelling-place with God, 
Amidst the mornings and the dew. 

A fair, sweet face, my father said, 

A witchery, of woman worth. 
A golden glory crowned her head: 

Her heart was eager for my birth. 

Her eyes were solemn, wonder-lit, 
With dreamful love, a steady look 

That gazed straight on and up, and fit 
For faith and sunrise and the Book. 

A woman far removed, at death, 
Across wide seas, from native land; 

And at life's eventide a breath 

From mountain heights her spirit fanned. 

Beside the sea her girlhood dwelt. 

Where sea-sands spread and sea-cliffs clomb; 
And on the cliffs the heather smelt, 

And sea-wrecks fed the fires of home. 

41 



Her dimming eyes dwelt on the hills 

Which climbed to snowy heights sublime. 

A mountain peace her spirit fills, 

The hours she drifts from shores of time. 

She looked my father in the face 

With look he dreamed on till he died. 

And said she loved him, and that grace 
Would set her with the glorified. 

She looked at me, her early born. 

With skies of love in her sweet eyes — 

"I wait for him in the far morn. 
The timeless morn of Paradise." 

Her hands fell, wandering, on my face 

Like a beatitude; and awed. 
She gently prayed a moment's space — 

And so stepped out to dwell with God. 

Nor know I yet my mother's look. 
Nor have I felt my mother's kiss; 

But shall some daytime cross the Brook, 
And press her mother lips in bliss. 

4£ 



The Brook is death: beyond Hes Life, 
Its holy meadows sown to stars. 

There Mother dwells where nothing dies, 
Nor aught the age-long glory mars. 

She loveth still her little lad, 
Nor is she aught in love remiss; 

But will some happy day be glad 
To give to him his morning kiss. 



o 



A Pact with Death 

NE day I made a pact with Death, 
Death made a pact with me. 

He swore for aye to lend me breath; 
I swore from him to flee. 



And so we parted, Death and I, 
To go our several ways; 

But I came back without a sigh. 
And Death showed no amaze. 



43 



I 



The Sea- Wreck 

T crouched upon the rocks 
Like wounded Hon paralyzed. 

Where wild sea swirls and shocks. 
Mad ocean-riot realized. 



With helpless claws it held 

Its wounded, helpless, weary hold 

Where rocking sea tides swelled 
With seas' grim perils manifold. 

Once had it swept the sea 

Elate in rapture through the storm. 
And ventured in wild glee 

Where battling sea- waves sternly form. 

But here, alas ! and now 

It sprawls, a spent magnificence. 
The sea sands on its prow, 

And shamed and shorn of all defense. 

Aye, wonder prone, but great! 

It hath the ruthless ocean crossed 
And boldly met its fate, 

A glorious couchant wreck, sea-tossed. 
44 



A splendor of the scud 

Of storm, a strength which once was strong, 
A vagrant of the flood, 

Though now a wreck, — for aye a song. 



I 



An Angel Said 

SAW an angel standing strong 

And tall as hills that climb the sky: 

His words were as a triumph song 

Which, chiming, said, "Thou shalt not 
die." 



45 



When Autumn Fades 

WHEN autumn fades, and from the windy hill 
And forest glades beside the quiet rill 
The splendor wastes; and all the happy trees 
Are quite defaced of beauty, and the breeze 

Makes deep lament, with laughter quite forgot, 
As it were meant for threnody and not 
For merry mood : and when the blackbirds fling 
Their dusky brood across the sky on wing 

Toward fields remote, and wild geese, flying 

high, 
With muffled note make speed across the sky. 
And redbirds blaze through naked loneliness 
Of woodland ways: and full of deep distress 

The moaning trees, where beat tumultuous 

tides 
Of angry waves, whose stormy music chides: 
And all the ways are sown with withered leaves. 
And all the days are dim with haze, and grieves 
The wintry wind, and the year's evening 

shades 
Grow dusk, and blind the storms, — then 

autumn fades! 

46 



Unafraid 

I SHALL not stare with blinking eyes 
Upon the face of God; 
But I shall climb, with glad surprise. 
The hills by laughter trod. 

I shall not crouch, with hope forlorn. 

When I God's glory see; 
But I shall lift a song that morn, 

Song of eternity. 



47 



A 



At Holiday 

T rest, I sit 
And smile. 
The while, 
The happy while. 
The glad birds flit. 
With melody, 
To nests 
Where rests 
The happy brood 
So gleefully. 
The world 
Has whirled 
From dewy dawn 
To purple night 
While my vexed brawn. 
In free delight, 
Doth naught at will. 
Or aught at will, 
While milkweed bloom. 
With lush perfume, 
Makes summer air 
To loll and swoon; 
And skies are fair 
And wild bees droon, 

48 



And waters fall 
And chime and call; 
And locusts shrill, 
From vale to hill, 
Their wide content 
And languishment 
Of days that drawl 
Like lazy speech. 
And strong men sprawl 
Upon the beach 
And hear the rune 
That hath for tune 
Delight 
All night, 
And play 
All day. 

While summer wastes 
But never hastes. 
And winds blow soft; 
And all aloft 
The chiming rain 
Patters refrain, 
And weariness 
Forgets its stress 
'Mid the caress 

49 



Of twilight's calm 
And morning's balm 
And from us lift 
The foam and drift 
Of summer clouds. 
The toil that crowds 
Is borne afar, 
And thoughts that mar 
Life's symphony 
Grow mute as death; 
And melody 
Hath sky and breath. 
On sands to stretch 
While song waves sing 
And memories fetch 
Their calm, and cling. 
Through pines to stride 
On slippy spines. 
On streams to glide 
Where tangling vines 
In sweet winds sway: 
To breast the waves 
And with them play 
While sunlight paves 

50 



The cleansing sands 

And gladness beckons 

With both hands, 

And reason reckons 

Not, but stands 

To dream a listless dream. 

And love, at idleness, 

With questing eyes at gleam, 

Bids fare-you-well to stress. 

At holiday 

With mood to play 

And heart to sing 

And thoughts to wing 

Away, away, 

O happy way. 

At hoHday! 



51 



I 



Sonnet 

STAND upon the windy hill and watch 
Immeasurable morning flush the east, 
Watch tardy dawn push slowly back the yeast 
Of blackness — sullen, stolid, one vast splotch 
Of yieldless sovereignty: and then a notch 
Is cut in the long dark, and then a feast 
Of splendor sways like bannered fire, increased 
Till Heaven's a fiery scutcheon without blotch. 
Once to behold such pageant glorious — 
Once to perceive the light eclipse the dark, 
Night's stars all quenched in matchless solar light, 
And mark the day stride forth, victorious — 
Gives Faith bold wings upon the sky to embark, 
Safe in the final conquest of the right. 



52 



V 



O 



oices 



UT of the north the winter comes, 
And out of the south the springs; 

And winter hath a voice like drums, 
The spring hath a chime of wings. 

Down from the noon the summers swim, 
And out of the night the fall 

With a sob like voice of waters dim; 
And summer hath harvest call. 



53 



The Bending of the Bow 

I CAN bend this bow! 
'T is of mighty make; 
And my strength is slow 
And my muscles shake. 

I can bend this bow! 

Though I can not now. 
Yet my strength can grow 

And my might can bow 

Like a leaning wall. 

Like a sea wave's break. 

Like an army's call, 

Like an earthquake shake. 

I can bend this bow! 

It shall one day twang 
By the might I know 

Till the arrow-clang 

Shall affright the sky 
With its battle breath; 

And it, by and by. 
Shall stampede Death. 

54 



So this bow I hold, 
Like a loving hand, 

While my strength I mold 
By what I withstand. 

And the victory comes. 
Not by what we are, 

But by battle drums 
We can hear afar. 

By our weakness grown 
To a strength unguessed. 

By a falling prone, 
By the fight possessed. 

By a hope like wings. 
By a trust sublime. 

So the bow string sings 
And the arrows chime. 

So the bow I try 

Which I can not bend; 
And the arrows fly, — 

And the end, the end! 



55 



The Autumn Wind 

BRIMFUL of loss, and grieving, 
Gray autumn's wind am I; 
And mine the song-birds leaving. 
And mine the fretful sky. 

And mine the sad heart aching; 

Oh, mine the drip of tears : 
Mine, too, the sad heart's breaking 

That endeth but with years. 

And mine the flame-leaf falling. 
So loath to drift and die; 

And mine the wild geese calling 
A-honking through the sky. 

And mine the voice grown weary 
With calling to dead flowers 

Across a landscape dreary, 

Where the gray rain-cloud lowers. 

Gh, mine the hopeless whining 
About the casements dim, 

A harp with no divining 
Of bloom or hope or hymn. 

56 



The Victor 

■'AINT am I from lost blood which I have shed 
On battlefields far off and near, where cause 
Sublime hath had its battle; and applause 

Hath harped on twanging sinews of the dead; 

And where I stood, whoever stood or fled, 
Nor ever, for one heart-beat, made a pause 
In fighting for the throning of those laws 

Enacted for an earth with carnage red. 

Drained dry my veins, and shivering my hand: 

My sword is fallen, and my shield is missed; 

Mine eye so dim, I can not find them now. 

I dimly hear the charge, nor understand 

Which way it clamors. Clearly, Death hath 
kissed 

Me. Yet God binds His laurel on my brow. 



I Feel the Hill Winds on My Cheek 

1FEEL the hill winds on my cheek. 
Although no hills I see. 
Across this desert waste and bleak 
God bloweth hope to me. 



57 



Sin 

DWARFED, vulture-beaked, with vulpine eyes, 
bloodshot, 
A-squint and set to a perpetual lear; 
A nose which seemed a wart, blood-red and slant; 
A mouth all wrinkled to a hundred scorns. 
And lips from which, in drops like poison blood, 
There oozed a flow of smutty jests unfit 
For even hell to hear, and verbiage scarred 
With obscene oaths and outragings of God; 
And all the while attempted laughter which 
But ultimates in grimace fierce and lewd; 
And eyes which bulge beyond the forehead, full 
Of lust obscene, the very dregs of sin. 
And staring, viper-glanced watch every way 
To spy out deep abandonment of lust: 
And tongue which, like a poisonous serpent's 

fangs. 
Whips in and out between the horrid lips: 
And arms, long, knotted, spotted like a serpent's 

skin, 
And reaching to the ground, where smut hands 

trail 
Their long and sticky fingers on the earth, 
And like a cataleptic's fingers, twist 

58 



And dance and grip in drunken frenzy fierce 

And dig like sheers into the ground, and mush 

The soil to mire in wirey fingering 

Of fingers upon palm, so that the mire 

Is streaked with blood. And legs, long, wrinkled, 

lean, 
Like zigzag lightning, horrid slants of fire 
Which fling off sparkles sulphur-stenched and 

blear. 
And feet which have no shape, but suck the 

ground 
Like horrid tentacle of octopus. 
And seem to breathe against the dirt and suck 
The poison from the dirt and then exhale 
Mephitic gases like a geyser's crust: 
And voice which stays not, night or day, through 

years, 
But bays like drunken hounds in quest of blood — 
Him I accost with cheek and lip as white 
As arctic snow, and stuttered forth a call, 
"And what art thou, O Horror mutilate?" 
Whereat the monstrous shameless shamelessness 
Howled like a hound-pack wild, "My name is 

Sin!" 



59 



When April Heals Wild Winter's Scars 

THE saps are climbing toward the cloud; 
The bluebird's call is on the wind: 
Soon will the world be laurel-browed, 
And laughing children wild flowers find. 

The whirling planet springs to birth; 

The dumb-earth flames to mirth of stars: 
There is a prophecy in earth 

When April heals wild winter's scars. 



God's Symphony 

' I 'riE fitful winds are moaning, 
A And chant their song of pain. 
The shoreward waves, intoning. 
Crash fierce and wild disdain. 

The sea-tanged winds are misting 
With fogs flung from the sea. 

The night and day are trysting: 
It is God's symphony. 



60 



Thou Art My Lord 

THOU art my Lord. I beat retreat 
From all the purposes I knew; 
I leave my triumphs for defeat 

At Thy command, the Safe and True. 

Thou art my Lord. My grip on life 

Was strong as strength, but Thee defied; 

And then I heard Thee through the strife. 
The King of life. Love crucified. 

Thou art my Lord. Thou art my sky: 
Thou art my Sea with drift of wave. 

To Thee my swift devotions fly, 

Who art the Called to bless and save. 

Thou art my Lord. Where'er my years 
Shall bring my swift far-going feet, 

Thou shalt be there to balm my fears. 
And make eternity complete. 



61 



1 



When Love Is Gone 

KNOW not if the skies be bright. 
Nor if the seas be gray. 

I only know hfe is not hfe 
When love is gone away. 



Good-Night 

T'HE day is done; and in the morning's east 
1 The shadows lie, dim dreams of night. 
The time is past for labor; and, released, 

Like galley slaves let loose in fight 
On seas that rock with battle shock, spent 

strength 
Turns face and step with love, homeward at 
length. 

The night has come; and with the evening star 
Day's pain drifts back like ebbing tide; 

And blessed moonlight ripples o'er the bar 
Of twilight. Then Love, glorified. 

Our God's good angel, sings, voice sweet and deep; 

And with the ebbing music cometh sleep. 



62 



The North Wind 

SET thy rude lips to the Hps of this flute: 
Try thy crude strength, with dull absence of 
form: 
Blow thy wild summons and forests uproot: 
Bring the bleak winter and breath of thy 
storm. 



The Heart-cry 

I NEED Thee, O my Master, 
* As the sunrise needs the sky. 
Life's perils follow faster 
Than the stormy petrels fly. 

I need the wide, calm keeping 

Of the Peace which calms the night 

And sets the sea a-sleeping 
And the distant stars a-light. 



63 



Bereft 

npHERE were three in the nest, 
•I And the mother-bird, too, 
With the warmth of her breast 
And her mother-love true. 

And the storm smote the tree 
With its bHnd, angry fist; 

And then there were three, 
With the mother-bird missed. 

And three birds in the storm 
And the drench of the rain. 

Nor a mother-breast warm. 
But a motherless pain. 

Then a nest and brown leaf 

Where three birds had been glad, 

A poor nestling of grief, 

And the sunlight grown sad. 



64 



Beside the Sea 

* 

BESIDE the sea, which moaned and took 
Autumnal tunes and crooned them o'er, 
I walked and heard the songs which shook 
With loneliness for evermore. 

I walked the shore at rise of sun, 
When day was new, untired his feet: 

I walked the shore when day was done: 
All whiles the sea did grief repeat. 

The sea, at calm or wild unrest, 
By moonlight or by sunlight sweet, 

By gentleness or storm possessed. 
Hymns songs with wrecks and tears 
replete. 



65 



The Soul 

' I ^ilE soul is not like harp of gold, 
A That waits the touch of dreamer's hands 
To wake its music, sweet and old. 

As memories brought from distant lands: 

The soul is like a warrior brave, 

Who sights the foe, and fears him not; 

Who laughs at death and scorns the grave. 
And shouts, "I have with heroes fought." 



66 



B 



Blow, Wind of God 

LOW on me, Wind of God, 
Blow wild and strong and free. 

I need the Heavenly Breath 
To blow earth-care from me. 

The landscape of my life 

Hath little sun or rain: 
It hath this dull earth-dust, 

This dull earth-grime and gain. 

Blow on me. Wind Remote, 
Whose home is in God's heart. 

Thy strange far-goings come. 
And balm and bloom impart. 

AU-tempestless, but swift. 

The Wind of Heaven blows free,- 
The blessed Breath of God 

From out eternity. 



67 



A 



My Torch 

S one who walks through solemn woods at night. 
When every star is blotted out with cloud 
And storm winds moan with rising passion 
loud, 
Holds high above his head a torch to light 
The path he takes, not knowing how to fight 
Intrusive blackness back except endowed 
With radiance from his high-held torch else 
bowed 
In darkness and defeat his manly might, — 
So I, above the grave of my sweet dead, 
Hold high this torch of God, to light the gloom 
And pour in sunshine while, with praising breath, 
I track the footsteps of my loved one fled 
To God's dear land and fair beyond the tomb: 
And this my torch, "There shall be no more 
death!" 



Afterwhiles 

OUR hearts are rained upon by tears: 
Our hearts are shined upon by smiles 
Our hearts are crucified by fears. 
But have their Easter-Afterwhiles. 
68 



Haste, My Hand! 

(Venerable Bede, while dying, urged sweaty haste 
to complete his translation of the Gospel of St. John, 
and is conceived as thus apostrophizing his dying 
hand, bidding it ''Haste, all haste.") 

QUICK, be no laggard, hand, 
Thou hast imperious work. 
Death with his sword takes stand 
Beside me. Nay, to shirk 

This for a crown of joy 

Of Hfe would be a crime. 
Risk! thy last strength employ: 

Complete thy task for time. 

Ah, art thou faint like wing 
Of wounded bird? No more. 

Hand which was strong, shalt sing 
Or even write a score 

Which, such as come some day 

Shall read and lift a song. 
Stiff art thou, hand? Dismay 

Shall seize thee fierce and strong. 

69 



But, pray thee, sing aloud: 
Thou hast translated this 

Book of the Christ. A shroud 
Can harm thee not, but kiss. 

Wrist and fingers cold 

As branch on frozen bough? 

Thou canst not whine nor scold. 
But lift high praises, thou. 

Hand, thou hast writ the word. 
The last strong word and sweet. 

Christ's Iliad hath stirred 
The world. Life is complete. 



The Grapes Which Grew on TTiorny 

Stems 

* I 'UAMP out thy grapes with naked feet, 
1 Thy grapes which grew on thorny stems: 
Tramp thorns and grapes and make complete 
Life's stormy nows and cloudless thens. 



70 



A 



A Son of the Vikings, I 

SON of the Vikings, I 

Who rollicked on the wave, 

Whose home was the sea and sky, 
And had the sea for a grave. 

A son of those men who clung 

To sea-wrecks manifold, 
A son of those men who swung 

On sea- waves icy cold. 

A son of those sailors lost, 
Whoknew the sea was wide. 

And loved the dim wrecks that tost 
But had the sea defied. 

A son of those wastes and nights 
Where wave and wind grew bleak. 

The son of a thousand fights. 
Which whitened not their cheek. 

A son of those fearless men, 
I must not frightened grow. 

But with the wild strength of ten 

Must rush where dangers go. 

71 



And then thou shalt come to wreck? 

But what is that to me, 
Age-long on the vessel's deck. 

And sired by man and sea? 



A 



An Arrow 

N arrow am I, 
Shot swift from the bow 

Of God. 
So, far must I fly. 
And straight must I go 

To God. 



7« 



B 



Desert Goldenrod 

ENEATH a sky immeasurably blue, 

Where barren sun-drenched wastes give back 

the light 
And desert owns the valley and the height, 
A desert goldenrod exultant grew. 
Upon its ardent fires no drop of dew 
Had ever dripped, nor ever any night 
Had come to lend it shadow or affright; 
But all its lifeblood from the day it drew. 
A grouped splendor like a central sun, 
A rank, exultant clamor of strange flame, 
A yellow fire like desert tawn at bloom, 
A gaudy emblem of wild triumph won, 
A subtle glory for the which no name, — 
A rapture of the desert fire and doom. 



7S 



Uphill 

'ROM out the vast abyss. 
Where tortures writhe and hiss, 
I amply, with His rod. 
Make upward toil to God. 

The swirl, the murk, the pain 
That have but loss, not gain. 
The while they crush and smite 
And slay with rancorous might, 

Them I defy. Half mine 
The might, and half divine, 
I urge successful war 
And slay what I abhor. 

My way is toward the shining hill 
Where laughters climb and surely fill 
The height. My march is unto Him 
Whose glory blinds the cherubim. 

He is my goal. In Him my praise 
Takes wings and sings through deathless 

days. 
The Everlasting God, His name. 
Through ageless ages, aye, the same. 

74 



Vast murk is here: no murk is there, 
But endless morning sweet and fair. 
Here labor tires: there labor rests 
Where God His glory manifests. 

So ever unto Him I come 
Where triumph solemn trump and drum. 
My way is to the heart of Him 
Whose glory smites the daylight dim. 



The Hills of God 

THE earthly hills, I love them well : 
They tales of mountain meadows tell. 
And hidden streams that sing their way 
To greening meadows far away. 

But Hills of God, they fill my soul 
With music, like the thunder's roll. 
They challenge my uneager eyes 
And school them to divine surprise. 



75 



The Wind of God 

THERE blew across the earth, one night, 
A wind unknown on earth before. 
It was as warm as summer light. 
And sang on ocean and on shore. 

The winds with which men are acquaint 
Blow east or west or south or north. 

They level blowj or strong or faint. 
Or gelid-breathed or summer-swarth. 

This wind blew downward from the skies 
As starlight falls through wastes of space; 

Blew sweet and strong in high surprise. 
Blew very heaven into the face. 

Upon this wind of paradise 

Came wafted strife of angel's wings; 
Came all-subdued and chaste repHes, 

Came liquid notes an angel sings. 

This wind of God straight downward blew: 
From God in heaven the wind was sent. 

It held the starlight and the dew 

And calmed my heart to rare content. 

76 



H 



Too Late 

E came when all the lists were filled. 
And sought a place on honor's field; 
In vain were helmet, spear, and shield, 

Or arm that was for tourney skilled. 



Who comes too late comes but in vain; 
All knightly skill is nothing worth: 
His plenty is as desert dearth; 

A moment had been deathless gain. 



77 



The Music of Running Water 

THE river waters silver on, 
Nor pause to watch the river's brim; 
But, at the dusk as at the dawn, 

They chastely sing their silver hymn. 

In autumn, when the fall flowers burn 
Untended fires along the shore, — 

"Say, river, soon their flame shall turn 
And thou shalt note their glow no more. 

**I pray you, river waters, wait! 

Now stand you still a moment's space 
And woo this splendor profligate. 

This bloom of a whole summer's grace." 

But, nothing loath, they are to pass: 
To flower or me they give no heed, 

Although the bending skies they glass 
And take shy glances at the mead. 

By night, by noon, past sun, past star. 
They lift the mellowest wonder voice 

That ever spilt its note and bar 
To make the listening heart rejoice. 
78 



"Sweet river voices, ye might sing 
A sweeter carol to the sky; 
But if ye did, with broken wing, 
'T would be a swan song but to die. 

"No, river, sing no sweeter lay; 

I can not dream out how ye could. 
Your music moves me, as it may, 

And bends me, as the winds the wood. 

"I, weary, rest me with your voice 

And know not any charm more deep. 
Your mellow music says, * Rejoice! 
For in one song we laugh and weep. 

*We know one song to soothe the heart. 

We fill it full of smiles and tears; 
We meet a moment, then we part: 

We meet again for endless years." 



79 



A 



A Hymn at Christmas 

T night-time, when the Lord Christ came. 
And all the midnight skies were dim. 

Then suddenly there sprang a flame 

When Bethlehem skies sent down a hymn. 



At night-time, when the Christ was born, 
And silence closed earth's eyes for sleep. 

Then suddenly, like glorious morn, 
A song arose, sky-wide, sky-deep. 

There is no night when Christ is born, 
Nor any silence free from song. 

Nor any human heart forlorn; 
But all is joy the ages long. 

We lift our hymn on Christmas day, 
We bid our hearts their joy bells ring; 

We teach our hearts to love and pray 
And all their holy raptures sing. 



80 



T 



My Rosary 

O tell my beads toward the cross; 

But, when the cross I see. 
It blinds me with its storm and loss, 

And from that loss I flee. 



It is toward the cross I walk— 
My goings lead but there; 

But its so cruel losses balk 
My purpose with despair. 

Now, soon my purpose firmer grows; 

I climb the ragged hill. 
I feel the thorns, nor see the rose. 

But climb, undaunted, still. 

I tell my beads toward His cross: 
His cross I catch and kiss. 

I find a treasure in my loss; 
I must not Calvary miss. 



81 



I 



The Dreamer 

npHEY knew not where he had dwelt, 
-■• They knew not where he died; 
But all the deep things men had felt 
This dreamer had descried. 



Toward Manhood 

CON my weary lesson o'er and o'er, 
And though I oft repeat, I oft forget; 
And like a peevish child, my cheeks are wet 
With futile tears, the while I try once more 
And fumble with my slight access of lore 
And sternly say, "I shall be learned yet," 
And vainly strive to calm my tire and fret— 
A peevish child at fret upon the floor. 
And shall I ever grasp the truth serene. 
And bloom to knowledge with a perfect flower. 
Or shall I fume and weep and stay a child. ^^ 
Strange Master of the things sublime, unseen. 
And Prince of all the realm of unknown power. 
Stay Thou, my Teacher patient, just, and mild. 



82 



Unlonely Loneliness 

ALTHOUGH I wander on the lonely hills 
•*»' Afar from men, I am not lonely. I 

Hold swift and sweet companionship which fills 
My soul with splendor like the spacious sky. 

Although I wander over prairies wide. 

Where blow the winds for which my lips have 
song, 

I have a kindlier Presence at my side, 
A surer fellowship than any throng. 

Although I wander by the witless sea. 
Where angers ride tyrannical and strong, 

There speaketh with me Peace; and Purity 
Upturns a shining face and lifts a song. 

Although I trespass where the drunken moods 
Of ribald jest and the salacious song 

Inveigh against all virtue, and obtrudes 
Shame like an iceberg cruel, bleak and strong, 

I wander there as though I trod the street 
Where shining-garmented the angels walk 

With glowing, golden sandals on their feet. 
And commune hold in holy, heavenly talk. 

83 



What odds to me where I am called to go? 

What trepidations can my pulses stir 
While through my life the sacred raptures flow? 

Thy right hand holds me: I, in naught, demur. 

Sea Sonnets 

I. The Graveyard Sea, 

HERE lie my forebear in thy gusty flood: 
Thy wash of waves hath scorned their seaman 

breath : 
Thy crush of shipwreck hath assured their 
death : 
Thy wind-blown garments are all dyed in blood. 
Thou ruthless Scorn, thou mangling Might, 
bestud 
Thy scutcheon with clutched hands, pale face, 

which saith, 
"The sea hath had its harvest, — pallid Death;" 
And roll thou on, wreck-strewn sea-ruth at flood. 

sea, who art the graveyard of my lost, 

1 must not murmur overmuch nor call 
With tragic cry because thou art to me 

The churned, vast open where my wrecks are tost, 
And all my summer leaves must saddened fall ! 
Thou art that majesty God names "The Sea." 

84 



II. The Prevailing Sea, 

O Sea, that murmurest at the break of day 
And slumberest at noon, and at the night 
When babes and birds are fast asleep, with 
fright 
Awakenest and in remotest bay 
With immemorial thirst to foil and slay, 
In booming passion stormest, and in bright 
Fair noon dost toss sea bubbles, men in plight 
Forlorn, nor carest since it is thy way — 
Thou Sea that lavest all the windy shores 
And bearest on thy briny bosom ships 
Deep-freighted, swift of sandal and of sails, 
Which with no toiling, sweaty ply of oars 
Sail on to havens where the music drips 
From prow and sail. No more! The Sea 
prevails. 

III. The Surcease of the Sea. 

When from mine own familiar heartache I 
Have wrung the blood nor found the anguish 

hushed. 
But ever found, at end, new anguish rushed; 
And in no measure could my wild pain die, 

85 



I yet perceived that mine and I must ply 

Our stormy sea-trade still, or pale or flushed, 

With languor spent or angry sea- wave crushed. 

Sea was august, triumphal as the sky. 

Thou strange and strong and ever- wandering sea. 

In whose hale hands world commerce still is 

kept, 
And whose exultant billows bear the health 
Of age on age, — the loss of mine and me 
Is but a minor pathos. We have wept. 
But thou, sea-azure, art this wide world's wealth. 



A Quatrain 

V/E saide that, an I loved ye well, 
A Ye wold my sweetheart be: 

And now this same swete love I tell: 
And, sweetheart, love ye lae? 



86 



The Ford 

' I 'HERE is a ford across the stream of death 
* Which a scant few of earth's serener souls 

Had found and made the crossing safe; the tolls 
Escaped which death had taken — the forced 

breath, 
The ice-dewed brow, the thought that wandereth; 
The stern dismay, the which across men rolls 
What time old and penurious death out-doles. 
With shivering fingers, one more gasping breath. 
Then One came down elate who knew the stream 
And all its heartache and its moaning loss. 
And, singing, onward walked, without dismay, 
Man's road from start to crossing; and, supreme. 
He found the ford and marked it with His Cross 
So none might miss the ford thenceforth alway. 



87 



The Wistful Years 

1 HE years, the wistful years. 
The years I journeyed toward, but never met, 

The dim, elusive years. 
Filled full of striving and of all regret. 

The years, the stalwart years. 
Where all my manhood marched and matched its 
might. 

The years of impulse fierce. 
Where life stormed wild and won the fearful fight. 

The years, the sorrowing years, 
Which yielded empty chairs and lonely graves. 

The years, the crushing years. 
Where Time's storm-ocean smote with iron waves. 

The years, the blessed years. 
In which Love had its joy and Faith its God, 

Magnificent and true. 
And where I tramped the ways by Jesus trod. 

The years, the holy years. 
Where shone the stars and sprang the dawns, and 
there 
Through glorious golden years 
The courage gained to journey anywhere. 

88 



O years behind, sweet years, 
I love your every foot-path on the sod: 

O years ahead, strange years, 
My feet laugh out toward you, full of God. 



I 



If 



F day had never a dusk. 
And a rose had never its musk. 

The world had lost wonder. 
If hearts had never known love. 
And below had not an above. 

Then hope had broken asunder. 



89 



When All My Life is Gathered in a 

Sheaf 

"YY THEN all my life is gathered in a sheaf 
VV Of ripened grain and bound with band of gold, 
And all my days of growing manifold 
Are vanished, vanished utterly, no brief, 
Bright day of Spring with bird-song free from 
grief. 
No harvest-passion day, in all, controlled 
By lust of bread for many men enrolled 
As *'Hungerers — " All done, all autumn leaf! 
When that day comes and my one sheaf of grain 
Is holden on the breast of angel strong, 
And he looks down upon it, may it be 
Not altogether pitiful and vain. 
But something worthy of the harvest song, — 
A golden glory for eternity. 



90 



Slain 

'THERE is haze on the distant hills, 
•■■ The purple of Autumn-tide; 
There is never a bird that trills: 
The music of Spring has died. 

There 's a hush in the beat of the heart 
That pounds like battle drums, 

When the riot of wild flowers start. 
And snows are on the plums. 

And the racer, God calls the Year 

Is nigh to die of pain; 
And his breath is a gasp of fear: 

His sob is like the rain. 

And he leaps like a sword from sheath 
On a last wild bound toward goal. 

And lies dead with a blood-red wreath 
Clutched fast, while sky bells toll. 

And he lieth stone dead on his face. 

Nor a muscle trembleth; 
And spring hath relinquished her grace — 

The year hath espoused death. 

91 



Dear Heart 

THE dews stay wet upon thy lips 
Through all the summer day; 
The merry morning hath its quips 
With thee, Sweet Heart, alway. 



Mistaken 



T, 



HEY glibly said he died, 
And on the monument had writ the story: 

This, history denied; 
For he had battled for his country's glory. 



92 



Y 



The Clouds 

E o'er me float 

With languorous rest, 
So strange, remote 

And full of quest. 
So full of all 

The dim content. 
Which drives my thrall 

To banishment. 
No surly dust 

Of roadway grime. 
No clamorous lust 

Of Traffic's prime 
Float where ye float 

In idleness. 
Nor lift a note 

Of strife or stress. 
Yea, drift for aye. 

Ye lofty clouds. 
And calm my sky 

When danger crowds. 
Drift, strangely drift 

And rain through years, 
Your respite swift 

Upon my fears. 

93 



The Hill of Loss 

THIS is the Hill of Loss, 
The yellow, desert Hill, 
Where grows no jeweled moss 
Nor murmurs any rill. 

This is the Hill of Loss, 

The gaunt and wintry crest, 

Where wild winds moan and toss 
And never soul is blest. 

This is that Hill whose name 
Is burnt on many breasts: 

This is that Hill whose fame 
Is writ in wild unrests. 

This is the Hill of Loss, 
Whose only bread is Pain, 

Where climbs the bitter cross 
And falls the sullen rain. 

This is the Hill of Loss, 
Whose only drink is Tears, 

Whose shield, sad souls emboss 
With this one legend, "Fears." 



94 



This is the Hill of Gain, 
Which is the Hill of Loss, 

Where Love erases Pain 
And stands the Holy Cross. 



Unfaith 

FAR off I heard the ocean shock 
As if the sky had fallen prone; 
And then I felt the whole world rock: 
And then I heard the whole world moan. 

But on the morrow skies were blue 

And all the ways were sweet with song: 

To every heart a bluebird flew; 
And thus I learned unfaith was wrong. 



95 



I 



On the Stair 

STUMBLE on the stair 

Which I well-nigh had climbed. 
High up where light was fair 

And silvery voices chimed. 

I stumbled on the gold 

Last top-stair when the flight 
Was conquered; and I scrolled, 

"Elate, I stand in light." 

I crumpled in a heap 

On first stair where I first 

Began, with heart at leap. 
To climb because I durst. 

Once more I climb the stair: 
The sky is in my heart: 

The stair-top is so fair; 

For there the swallows dart. 



96 



To Bring to Morn the Day for Which 
Earth Yearned 



A 



H, ruth is on me and the skies are red, 

Dyed bitter crimson by Hfe's ruthless woe 
Which hath been on us from the long ago; 
And of its fury have wild words been said 
By bruised, bleeding, lips, now mute and dead, 
The ceaseless passion is at tireless flow. 
While sentinels of years pace to and fro. 
Which leave blood footprints where they wan- 
dered. 
And so I lift my cry, "Yea, all is ruth;" 
But witless words they were and little worth: 
My rush of sudden tears had turned me blind; 
For what I found when I accosted truth 
Was that these pains were travail throes of birth 
To bring to morn the day for which earth 
yearned. 



97 



M 



Enough 

Y needs are few : God gives them bread : 
My needs are numbered at a thought. 

I come to Thee and I am fed 

On sweeter bread than angels brought. 



I feel so safe, so free, so strong 
When God is all my heart's desire, 

I mingle with the heavenly throng 
And sit beside Thy kindled fire. 

I make my graves beneath Thy cross; 

For lilies there in winter grow. 
And wandering winds, flower petals toss 

Upon my loved ones lying low. 

With Thee my mortal way is bright 
With splendor which knows not eclipse; 

And every darkest day and night 
Hath God's sublime apocalypse. 

I can not take my way from Thee: 
There is no house where I may go. 

To God is all my fealty : 

To Him do my aspirings flow. 

98 



Swift as the clouds when strong winds blow, 
Swift as the stars that climb the skies, 

My betternesses to Thee grow 
To find in Thee their full emprise. 



This, I Said 



w, 



HISPER and have done: 
I must hear the wild bugles of life 

Blow wild for the run 
For the rush and the querulous strife. 

Stutter and then cease: 
I have asked for a deluge of spears. 

Stammer and hold peace: 
I must crush through the rout through years. 



99 



I 



I Lie Amidst Red Clover Blooms 

LIE amidst red clover blooms, 

And feel their passion fan my face. 

They rmi afar to meet the winds 

That blow from out the summer space. 

The wild bees drone and drink their fill 
Of wine the spring and earth have made. 

I drink the joy and passion fleet 
Of lying in red clover shade. 

They tilt their blooms to touch my face; 

They hnger as to kiss my lips; 
And on the languor of my soul 

The respite of red clover drips. 

Soul Loquitur 

I KNOW, I know a thing, 
A cruel thing," Soul said, 
"I that am wandering, 
Shall wander with the dead." 

"I know, I know a thing, 
A glorious thing," Soul cried. 

**I wandering shall sing 
Among the glorified." 
100 



Who Quireth Now Along the Hills 

WHO quireth now along the hills 
When autumn gathers dumb and gray 
Who morning unto evening fills 

His throat with song from day to day? 

Dead is the leaf, and dim the sky : 

The ways are whipped with withered leaves; 
The summer birds forsaken, fly: 

The fields are desolate of sheaves. 

Bluebird nor wren nor vireo 

Lilt swift and sweet along our ways: 

It seems a century ago 

Our trees were full of bird-sung praise. 

Who singeth clear, beyond the rim 
Of land and sky where sets the sun.f^ 

It must be God who starts the hymn, 

"When autumn glooms, then spring's be- 
gun." 



101 



B 



The Harp That Once Was Mine 

ECAUSE I could not play deep harmonies 
Upon my harp, I, angry, broke its strings 
And left them hang in pleading silence mute. 
Dim hands of pain which caught at emptiness, 
And turned and left the wounded ecstasy 
To be a scoff to journey ers on that way. 
And hammered on my anvil in the smoke. 
Then came a man with starry wonder-eyes 
And vagrant steps which wandered here and there 
In search of what the many cared not for, 
Who found my vanquished harp, ashamed and 

mute, 
A tatter of what used to be a song. 
There tarried he and sat him as for rest, 
But fondly took the harp disconsolate 
And caught its sadly marred and broken strings. 
And gently knotted them with serious care 
Until they drifted like a slant of rain 
Once more, and fit for rainy minstrelsy. 
Then those frayed strings he swept with wistful 

hands ; 
And all the pain they knew and tears, they told, 
Until the road was thick with folk who stood 
All sobs, the while the star-eyed minstrel played; 

102 



And I forsook my anvil with a cry, 

"What harp of glory wakes these notes divine?" 

When, lo! I stood and saw the harp was mine, 

The dull discarded thing I broke and scorned 

Because it did not wake deep harmonies. 

"Is this harp thine?" the dreamful harper said, 

"Nay, thine," I sobbed, "The harp I had is dead." 



Beside a Brook 

A POET lay beside a brook 
And scrolled his lines on oak leaf green. 
Nor on his lines again did look. 

Brief lived his lines, as leaf, I ween. 



Who Lit Yon Star? 

THE dusk was there. 
But now, a light. 
The twilight bar. 
The violet stair; 

Now, star and night. 



103 



I 



Sonnet 

N unimaginable hope the year 

Wades through its drift of windy autumn leaves 
Into the deeper drift of snow, nor grieves 
That clustered grapes and tassled corn appear 
No longer on the harvest plain to cheer 

The eyes and give the heart a song, nor weaves 
The spider's web across the path. All eves 
Look wistfully on morrows without fear. 
The year hath courage, like a sturdy knight, 
To face the wildest storm of winter days 
And sing all whiles, like springtime birds at wing. 
Because the cruel winter makes strong flight, 
With sleepless strivings through all nights and 

days. 
Toward the bloom and minstrelsy of spring. 



H 



A Man I Knew 

E linked his life to better things: 
He climbed the holy hills of God; 

He gave to the discouraged wings 
And left a path by angels trod. 

104 



I 



The Tiger Flower 

MARK me well where grows the flower 
From which men press their poppy drink 

With its immitigable dower 

To school the thought to strangely think. 

I mark me well where grows the weed 
Which brews a drink to drug the soul, 

To make the pith of being bleed 

And blot with blood-red tears life's scroll. 

I mark the place and mark the plant: 
I know the sorry story through — 

How love goes blind and manhood scant — 
And yet the cursed drink I brew. 

It is not ignorance but lust 

Which churns my blood to tropic wrath 
Till life is like a thunder gust 

Which hath a shameless aftermath. 



105 



A' 



A Lullaby 

H, hush, babe, hush! 
The gold-throat thrush 
Hath stilled his song. 
The gloom and star. 
The near and far, 
Grow hushed, and throng 

With purple calm 

And perfumed balm 

The gentle night. 
Thy mother's love 
Smiles sweet above. 

Like angel bright. 

Sleep sweet and smile 

The happy while 

The love untold 
With mother arm, 
And love, and charm 

Do thee enfold. 

O lullaby! 

The earth and sky 

Fall fast asleep. 

106 



O lullaby! 
Thy mother's why 
Thou needst not weep. 

For thy wee form 
Night hath no storm. 
But blur of wings 
Which comfort brings, 
And lullaby. 

"O lullaby," 
Thy mother sings 
So witchingly 
Like strife of wings, 

O lullaby, 

O lullaby! 

O lullaby! 
A mother's sigh, 
A mother's kiss 
Thou shalt not miss. 

O lullaby! 
But mothers die? 
What then, ah, then? 
God lives. Amen. 
O lullaby. 
Sweet lullaby! 
107 



The Building of the Hut 



B 



UILD thee a hut, my soul, 
Nor fret because the walls 

Are built of clay. No scroll 
Of Gothic type, nor halls 

Of stately length and height 
Are thine. Thou lackest art 

And wealth, thou lackest light. 
Thy day too brief for heart 

To throb for long and build 

Immortal monument 
This side these stars or gild 

A dawn. "He came and went,' 

Is what the scribe will say 
When he who built the hut 

Hath silent passed away. 
"His wagon wore this rut 

In bringing clay for this. 

His humble house — just space 

To pray and serve, and kiss 
His best beloved's face 

108 



Good-bye." Fret not nor scowl 
At this, like some dull monk 

Who mumbles under cowl 
As home he stumbles, drunk. 

Thy wit, my soul, was this 
That thou didst frame no roof 

Lest thou shouldst thereby miss 
Some dawn or star, a proof 

Of God. The light was thine; 

And thou didst ceil thy clay 
Abode with space — the sign 

That thou shouldst live alway, 

Thy sign, that time was not 
Thy Lord, nor earth thy throne, 

But thy poor garden plot. 

Vast soul, make thou no moan: 

Thy roofless house of clay 

Preaches thy faith, that here — 

A flitting moment's stay. 
But there — immortal cheer. 



109 



Harvestless 

THE plot of earth God gave to me to till, 
I tilled it not; but let the morning pass 
While dewy beauty kindled on the grass 
Its thousand lamps of wondrous flame, to fill 
The soul with ecstasy. I heard the trill 
Of birds at dawn. I heard, but yet, alas! 
I heeded not. The clouds of dawning glass 
Their new-lit glory from the lake and rill, — 
All this swift like a vision passed; but I 

Nor plowed nor sowed. The brown earth knew 

no toil 
Of mine. The while fair day swept by, the soil 
That yearned for sowing yearned in vain. Gone 

God's hour. No sheaf of gold is mine. The sky 
Burns red with sunset. Harvestless I die. 



T 



Wild Clematis 

HE wild vine clambers at its will. 

And sprays the rock with foam of flower. 

It hath at heart to take its fill 

Of sky and sunshine and of shower. 

110 



M 



My God, to Thee 

Y God, with whom my being chimes 
In whom I find my deep dehght. 

In whom are all my summer climes, 
My sunny day and slumbrous night. 



My God, to whom my spirit turns 
As sunflowers to the dawning east. 

For whom my shoreless nature yearns. 
And where is ever Love at Feast, 

My God, by Thee I climb from woe, 
By Thee ascend the endless stair. 

With Thee across the ages go, 

With Thee, have solace everywhere. 



Spring Cometh 

SWEET Spring, I hear your bluebirds sing. 
And your quaint marsh frogs sounding, 
And soon your first wild flowers will spring. 
Heart, how thy pulse is bounding! 



Ill 



She Wore a Kertle Willow-green 

SHE wore a kertle willow-green; 
Her eyes were cornflower blue: 
Perpetual youth was in her mien: 
Her hair was pearled with dew. 

About her waist she wore a zone 

Of daisies pied and sweet; 
And in her voice there sang a tone 

Like swift wind through the wheat. 

In her left hand she held a spray 

Of iris from the brook; 
And in her eyes there was a way 

The shining angels look. 

Her hair was golden — stubble gold, 
Wound round, and flashed and burned; 

Her words were like to love new-told, 
And sang and sobbed and yearned. 

She ran as swift as summer rain 

Across a quiet stream, 
Nor looked she ever back again. 

And vanished in a gleam. 

in 



I called, and called, with no reply; 

But round the swallows wing 
And weave aerial cobwebs high. — 

Bethink thee, heart, 't was spring ! 



Fain Would I Listen in the Hush of 

Bells 

T'AIN would I listen in the hush of bells, 

Late swung by sinewy unseen human hands 
In steeple tall which overlooks the lands 
Where harvests grow and where the daylight tells 
The scene good-night. No longer worship swells 
From throat on throat of bells whose song 

expands, 
And holy convocation blest commands 
And riot in our warring souls dispels. 
In wake of holy hush of bells, I fain 
Would falter humbly nearer to the skies, 
Would hush my heart beneath the falling dew 
Of mercy redolent of God. My bane 
Of bitter loss is this — I do not rise. 
And with the hush of bells strength girds anew. 



113 



Moriturus Saluto 

TAKE thy thumbs from mine eyes. 
Pale Death; 
Give me sight anywise 
And breath. 



Gouge me not with thy thumbs, 

Pale Death; 
Spare me fright which benumbs. 

Sweet Death. 



The Wistful Days 

1 HE leaves fall wistfully 
As, loath alike to stay or go. 

They all are kist fully 
By autumn winds that sea-like flow. 

The sky with mist fully 
Is clouded like a weary look. 

Grief hath its tryst fully 
With tears in this autumnal nook. 



114 



Eastertide 

I. At Night. 

TTIAT night, the while Judea slept, 

A As Jesus lay in borrowed grave, 

And His disciples, waking, wept 

For Him they dreamed was born to save. 

The world was like a stream run dry. 
Its snow-drifts in far mountains spent; 

And hfe*s poor hope was but to die 
With battle bow for battle bent. 

With unspent shafts in quiver hung. 
With powers yet scarce begun to wake, 

With strength all new and bow all strung, 
Life in the grave its place must take. 

II. At Morn, 

When up the east the glory swept. 

And from the grave the Lord Christ 
sprang. 
Dead hope, that like a sluggard slept, 

Leaped from the earth! The blue heavens 
rang 

115 



With exultation loud and long! 

Great expectation from the dead 
Awoke, and, with triumphant song, 

The radiant way from Calvary led. 

Christ's Easter hath this message sent: 
"Life's quiver is with arrows filled: 

For endless years the bow is bent; 

And life with deathless hope is thrilled." 



Morning on Eastward Mountains 

T"TIE rocks are rimmed with fire: 
•*• The grass is rimmed with dew: 
The wild-birds are at choir; 
The sky, far up, is blue. 



I 



December- June 

T is December 
In my years. 
But June time in my heart. 
I scarce remember 
Any fears: 

My wild June roses start! 
116 



T 



I Love Thy Cross 

'HOU God who liftest up my head, 
I praise Thee with my singing breath, 

Thou Christ arisen from the dead 
And Conqueror of Hfe and death. 



I love Thy name, I love Thy cross, 
Unto my heart they are most fair; 

And near them there can be no loss; 
For heaven with them is anywhere. 

Christ and His cross make midnight day, 
And cause the bruised heart to sing; 

Christ and His cross drive sin away. 
And constant, glorious triumph bring. 

So, near unto this cross divine. 

Stay thou, my heart, and stay alway; 

For, know its holy light will shine 
While glows the dawn of endless day. 



117 



1 



Beset 

AM stung by the scorpion's bite; 

I am whipped with a branch of thorns; 
I am caught where the serpents fight; 

I am tossed by the wild beast's horns; 

I am lashed to a floating spar 

That churns where the seas are wroth; 

I am snared where the maniacs are, 
And am white with the serpent's froth; 

I am hung from the cliff by a thread, 

Where I swing like a pendulum; 
I am counted among, the dead, 

And the friends whom I love are dumb. 

I have tasted the brine of death; 

I have drained its mad cup clean dry: 
I have climbed death's wild heights when breath 

Was reduced to a tear and sigh. 

And I dream that I shall not die. 

Who have lived through such harms as these: 
I am sure I shall conquer the sky 

And shall shun this earth's obsequies. 
118 



Forecast 



T. 



0-MORROW I shall die. 
I feel the coming of my brave 

Hereafter. I shall fly 
On wings of morning. Death's dim wave 

Affrights me not at aH; 
I schooled me at the school of Christ. 

And when in death I fall, 
I answer to a holy tryst. 



The Sea in Sleep 

1HAD slept by the sea with its spray on my face; 
I had heard, in my dreams, the discourse of its 
waves; 
I had felt, though asleep, the far reach of its space. 
And had sobbed with wild grief at the sight of its 
graves. 



119 



M 



A Hymn o( Serving 

Y Christ, I own Thee King 

Of this, my little life; 
Thy consolation bring. 

And quiet all my strife. 
Give me Thy peace within, 

Thy deep, sweet peace of love: 
Let me God's life begin. 

To finish it above. 

I urge my quest to God, 

Him wholly would I know; 
The path the Savior trod, 

I would with gladness go. 
And find His labor sweet, 

Increasing sweet His Word; 
To find my joy complete 

When I for service gird. 

The helpful hand I crave. 

The eager, loving heart. 
To bless, to help, to save 

Ere I from life depart. 
Haste Thou my lagging feet; 

Speak sternly. Heavenly Dove. 
Make Thou my life replete 

With faith, with work, with love. 
120 



No Night Is There 

1 >l0 night is there! 
Though night is here whose darkness fills 
The hollows of Life's rugged hills, 

No night is there! 

No night is there! 
Here, shadows stand thick-ranked as men 
When bugle calls to war; but, then, 

No shadows there! 

No night is there! 
No dark hours filled with tears and pain 
As pools are filled with Autumn rain; 

No night is there! 

No night is there! 
Along Heaven's sky, forever fair, 
Floats deathless morning, free from care, — 

No night is there! 

No night is there ! 
Then, heart, though sorrowing, grow strong; 
These glooms are deep, but last not long, — 

No night is there! 
121 



Forgive Me, Lord 

FORGIVE me, Lord, if I have sought to know 
The silent paths — those sunny, blessed ways 
Where morning shineth through all light of 
days, ^ 
And never wintry winds are known to blow; 
Where all the year the quiet violets grow. 
And all the trees and birds lilt silver lays 
Wild clamoring, and the hymn they sing is, 
"Praise!" 
And where the streams of peace, meandering, flow. 
I thought not widely on Thy wider things: 
I caught out wildly at the lesser good. 
What time I thought to ease me of the strife 
Strong men had borne who greatly swept the 

strings 
Of that stern melody which, understood, 
Becomes the music that the Lord names life. 



in 



I 



I Care Not 

CARE not if the way be hard, 

Nor if the way be long; 
Nor if my tool be plow or shard 

So be I lift a song. 

This thing I value in my heart, 
Undubious and bright, — 

To be of all things good a part. 
And love and throne the right. 

Nor where I fall along the route. 
How far or near the goal, 

But that my courage brought about 
New freedom for the soul. 



123 



He Loved the Dusk 



H 



[E loved the dusk. 
When day was lost 
Amongst the shadows of the hills. 
And drowsy musk 
Of night had tost 
Its witchery upon men's wills, 

And all the light 
Went wistful sad, 
He, lured by calling shadows, came 
To where the flight 
Of bat-wing had 
A summons, calling him by name. 

He felt their dream 
Upon his soul. 
And lingered where the night and day 
Had blent their stream 
From pole to pole, 
Which, like a song, lured him away. 

He loved the dusk. 
Its shadows leaned 
Their gentle cheek against his face. 
He smelt the musk 
Of twilight, gleaned 
From day-time's, night-time's blended grace. 



In that far land 

To which, one night, 
His spirit passed, to dwell with those 
Who always stand 
In dreamful light, 
I pray he walks in wide repose. 

I pray that there 
Day-dusk is lent 
For such as he to wander through, 
Serene and fair, — 

Where God hath blent 
Fair starlight with the evening dew. 



125 



I 



A Work Song 

KNOW the fight severe, 
The shock of battle great; 

But I have Christ forever near, 
To help me soon and late. 

I have a business here 

In this great world, and fair: 
It I pursue with holy cheer. 

Alert to do my share. 

So long as I may be 

A helper to the earth, 
So long as I may work with Thee, 

My work shall be my mirth. 

Not one complaint I bring 

Of toil or peril dark. 
But at my work, exulting, sing. 

Like high priest at God's ark. 



126 



B 



TTie Sparrow 

ASE-BORN am I, and brown as dust. 
And free from every high desire. 

And satisfied with roadway crust 

And warmth that knows not any fire. 

Base-born am I; and so I stay 
The darhng of the dust and mire. 

Nor care I aught in any way 
To join the song of any choir. 

Base-born am I as sparrows are; 

And yet, I pray, I break the ban 
And fly into the glory far 

And live and breathe and stay a man. 



127 



When Spring Comes Home 

\^ HEN spring comes home 
From her long pilgrimage, 
Unwearied and unmarked by age, 
When spring comes home! 

How wild with glee 
The laughing children and the flowers 
And singing birds and golden hours 

And streams will be. 

When spring comes home! 

How the dull bank 
Shall wake, to smile with violets, 
Forgetting winter's sad regrets. 

And joys, to thank 

Sweet spring, come home! 

And down long hills 
There babble, like a happy child, 
And swirl and leap, with springtime wild, 
* The crystal rills. 

When spring comes home! 

128 



When spring comes home! 
How passing sweet it is to know 
Our spirits, like God's violets, grow. 

When spring comes home! 

And spring comes home! 
When Life's long winter faints and dies. 
There dawns upon our watching eyes 

Heaven's spring, come home. 



129 



A Prayer 

TTIUMPET Thy call at morn. My slumbers 
* break, 

My dreams dispel, and bid my opening eyes to 
see 

What lieth near my hands for doing. Free 
Me from my lethargy and blindness; wake 
My conscience that it sleep no more, nor shake, 

A craven, when the danger shocks. Decree 

Some service, arduous and harsh, and me 
Enstrengthen, that my task I undertake. 
And then, through all the weary, vexing day, 
Give Thou me patience that, with simple trust, 
I hold to God, my Consolation and 
Reward, and learn to labor while I pray. 
And make of life a psalm as goodness must, — 
And thus my day to leave in God's good hand. 



130 



Violets 

V/E tatters torn from windy skies, 
•■• Ye violets wet with starry dews; 
Ye flowers of chaste yet strange surprise, 
As wasteless as the widow's cruse. 

I know the flowers of earth full well : 
I love them one, I love them all; 

And can their sweet enchantments tell; 
I can their haunting musks recall. 

The flowers which from the earliest spring 
Unto the later fall bloom out, 

I as unto dear memories cling, 
Nor one forget nor one would flout. 

But, Violet, I love thee best. 

Thou dear, "dim" flower friend Shake- 
speare saw, 
Which God hath chosen to invest 

With form and tint beyond a flaw. 



131 



I Saw the Christ Where Battle Shocked 



I 



SAW the Christ where battle shocked 
Its bloody way across the plain: 

I saw where wavering standards rocked. 
And, round them, mountains of the slain. 

I saw the Christ with forehead flushed. 

As if a day-dawn lit His face, 
What time He strode where battle rushed 

And heard the crush of battle mace. 

He wore no apathy of look: 

He showed no scorn of battling men. 
Of all that war is. He partook, — 

Its power to shape the now to then. 

He strode amongst the wildest whirl. 
Where men fell fast as autumn leaves. 

He fought beside the fighting churl, 
At whose dull death no human grieves. 

He marked this unmarked man of strength, 
Who swung strong sword with rhythm of 
stroke. 
And called this long-hid man, at length, 
To manhood's meaning, and awoke 
132 



His sense of majesty, till now, 

When war beats wild drums as of yore, 
Christ binds blood-laurel round the brow 

Of man as man for evermore. 



My Home 

1 go to "prepare a place for you. 



99 



H 



E told it me, the blessed Christ of God, 

The while Love's Paschal sobbed itself away 
And earth's dark night did melt into the gray 
Of that illustrious morning. I can plod 
Life's way in hopelessness no more. The rod 
Heaven holds will lead me, weary, to the day 
Whose light pales not to evening, where we 
stray 
Like children spent with joy. Not now a clod. 
But prince and son for whom this dwelling rare 
Was fashioned. Winds like laughter stray. The 

streams 
Are golden with delight. The shades are peace 
And bloom with mercy. High God's hills and 

fair. 
My home! The beauty of a poet's dreams 
Pales, and must pale, before this sweet surcease. 

133 



O Lord of Need, for Thee I Grope! 

LEAN Thou a little nearer, Lord: 
^ I need Thy face beside my own. 
I need my will with Thine to chord, 
That I may catch the heavenly tone. 

I need Thy heart against my heart. 
Lest I should fret my force away 

With my unrest, nor take my part 
In shining in Thy brighter day. 

I need Thy calm. O give it me. 
Lord of the Rest, whereof men say 

That such as have it can not be 

Like restless seas which drift and sway. 

I need Thee in my deepest need, 

Where ache my fears and lifts my hope. 

**I need Thee," is my highest creed. 
O Lord of Need, for Thee I grope! 



134 



A 



A Father's Grave 

GRAVE where prairie grasses sway 

And seldom fall asleep 
Through any golden summer day, 

And where no mourners weep; 

For there lies one who lives with God 

In unimagined rest. 
He is not here beneath this sod. 

But kinsman of the blest. 

So, swift the prairie winds sing by — 
The years as swiftly pass — 

And touch this kinsman of the sky 
That lies below the grass. 



135 



The Voices 

HERE'S to the night!" 
The cricket chired. 
"Here's to the day!" 
So wakes the bird. 

And by the song 

In rise of sun. 
And by the joy 

When day is done, — 

Both by the voice 
Of day and night 

Praise Hfts to Thee, 
O Soul's Dehght. 



186 



Hope 

TO every morn there is a noon, 
With sun swung high and light divine; 
Where affluent glories burn and shine, 
And dawn and midday are in tune. 

If clouds dash black across the deep, 
And light is dim though noon be here. 
We lose not faith nor banish cheer. 

Nor let our hearts learn how to weep 

Because we know the sun rides far, 
Serene beyond our tempest's gloom; 
And sky-deeps are in wealth of bloom 

Of light and grace no storm can mar. 

So, Morning, know the Noon is thine! 
Those tall steeps of the midday own 
To be thy heritage and throne, 

Whereon to sit by right divine. 



137 



I Work My Work 

I. The Mediocre Holds Dialogue With Himself— 

Heartache, 

1W0RK my work. The days arid years are cast 
Aside like leaves autumnal, which the frost 
Hath wearied of and thrown away and lost, 

Nor cares at all to recollect where last 

It was he held them in his hands. All's past! 
Meantime I work my work at bitter cost 
Or blithe as billows on a sea up-tost. 

But trivial as a child's wee boat and mast. 

I work my work. It seems so little worth. 

It shames me as the dregs do shame the wine. 

It grips me with a grip of cold despair. 

I dreamed to do such deeds of lordly girth. 

It shames me as the driftage shames the brine. 

Yet, stay! Howbeit, God may deem it fair. 

II. The Mediocre Speaks in Self-Appraisement, 

I work my work. I was not indolent — 
I tireless toiled who had but little grace 
Of thought or eloquence, nor wielded mace 

Of pondrous weight, whose fearful smitings went 

138 



Clean to the battle's heart and boldly blent 
Its martial melody to change the face 
Of vast events and, shouting, turn disgrace 
To glory, then to die in swift content. 
Not thus was I, but only sentinel 
To walk about the windy streets at night 
And faithfully to keep wrong deeds at bay. 
Nor any citizen my name could tell 
Only, through me, the night-time had no fright: 
But in sweet sleep the city dwelt till day. 

III. The Mediocre Hath Heartsease, 

I will not therefore break my heart because 
My work hath scanty harvest; and a sheaf 
Comprises all my meager crop. My grief 
Shall wipe its bitterness away. The daws 
May not peck at my heart, nor with their claws 
Rejoice to disarray my brow of leaf 
Of scanty laurel wherewithal my Chief 
May think worth while to cheer me at life's pause. 
I work my work: God will not grind me down 
Nor shame me for the little strength I had, 
Nor make me laughing stock for souls of might; 
But in His kindness He will doubtless crown 
My meager gifts and deeds, and make me glad 
And set me shining like a star of night. 

139 



I Met Old Care 

Oomewhere 
I met Old Care, with seamed face, 

And hair 
Grown thin and gray; hands knotted; 
grace 

All-spent 
In voice and laughter; eyes as sad 

As blent 
Of sad sea mists and rain which had 

No hope 
Of sunlight and surcease on all 

The slope 
Of life, nor any robin call. 

Old Care, 
With shoulders stooped and twitching 
lips. 

Nor prayer 
Upon them save, "Wrecked ships, 
wrecked ships." 

140 



^ "Wrecked ships," 

He ever mumbles, while a tear 

Slow drips 
On his lean fingers — lean with fear. 

Blue lips, 
From which, with dull reiterance, 

"Wrecked ships," 
Say all a soul's significance. 



141 



Old Care Met Christ 



I 



MET the Christ— 
At laughter on the road of Hfe, 

Exultant, strong — 
And with His cheer He banished strife 

And lifted song. 

I saw Him meet 
Old Care, who with his fingers fumbled 

And grimace made 
With angry face, and ever mumbled, 

*' Ships, wrecked ships;" 
Nor upward looked nor ever smiled, 

But only scowled 
At every man who passed, or child. 

Him Jesus met. 
And brought a strange apocalypse 

Of peace to care 
And radiant smiling to the lips 

Of grim Old Care, 
Whereat his world became renewed. 

And, all his scowls 
Forgot, and angers, Old Care viewed 

142 



The smiling sky 
And gentle folk and radiant hills, 

And sang aloud, 
"Why, all this world wide peace distills!" 

And Jesus smiled, 
And kissed Old Care upon the face: 

And on it stays 
The quiet of redeeming grace. 

Sonnet 

A WOMAN, leaning head upon her hands 
And weeping. "Nothing more?" Oh, cruel 
speech 
Which no apology can ever reach 
Or beckon back again. That woman stands 
Our human woe incarnate; for the bands 
That bind our hearts together, each to each, 
Are sorrow- woven; and those salt-tears teach 
That griefs are unenumerate as the sands. 
A weeping woman! Yea, a breaking heart; 
Her fingers sealed upon a lock of hair 
And fond words from a dear one loved and lost. 
As those who, watching, see a cable 4)art 
That lets their ship go drift they know not where — 
She watches. All her hopes are tempest-tost. 

143 



rairie 



Wind 



'ROM sky to sky this swift wind blows 
Across a hundred leagues of grass. 

Nor any whence or whither knows, 
But only knows to blow and pass. 

From sky to sky — with wings so swift 

That dawning only is so free; 
With wings that idly fold to drift 

Like idle sails on idle sea. 

Sometimes it blows a ruthless gale, 
Wild, wicked, fierce to meet as death; 

A foe to make the brave grow pale. 

To clutch the throat and take the breath. 

Sometimes as mild as gentle light 
That wingeth from the quiet stars, 

A breath to touch to deep delight. 
Which nothing wearies, nothing mars. 

A wind of fragrance born of flowers 

And green grass close against the earth. 

And wonderment of summer showers, — 
O Prairie Wind, thy name is mirth. 

144 



Thy home is earth, thy home is sky: 
Thy wings are given thee of them. 

Thou lovest both, nor knowest why; 
And thou to both art diadem. 

Bow down thy prairie grasses sweet: 
Drink from thy flowers dehrious dew; 

Tramp on them with rejoicing feet, 
Thou sweetest wind that ever blew! 



October 

» 
•T^Y leaves are turning red like wine; 
1 Thy plains are clad in sleepy haze; 
Thy far-seen hills are blue like brine; 
Thy leaf -fall sows the woodland ways. 

Thy voices moan like men in pain. 

Who, sleeping, moan yet in their dreams. 

Winds Hum a shadowy refrain, 
As dreamy sad as sunset's beams. 

Thy days are dear to me as death; 
And death is dear as sacred love. 
Our days are nothing but a breath — 
A twilight here, the day above. 
^° 145 



Lord, To Be Kept 

ERD, keep me from the wan and cold dismay 
Which evermore ensues with withering care, 
Unless it hap that wheresoe'er I fare 
Thyself dost share my journey all the way, 
And turn the barren darkness into day 

Which shines above the brightness of the flare 
Of clustered suns that unthought splendors 
wear 
And no eclipse may any wise dismay. 
With equal step, my Lord, make speed with me: 
With Thy celestial converse spring my thought 
To rainbow height and loveliness. Thy hand 
On mine, when weary pulse would slack its glee 
Of journey, shall exalt my life so naught, 
Shall swerve my going to Thy Better Land. 



146 



I Saw a Boat at Anchor on a Bay 

I SAW a boat at anchor on a bay 
With lantern swung at prow, whose glancing 
bright 
Flung o'er the shadowed wave a wavering light 
Which should not intermit till winged day 
Should put all lesser splendors to decay. 
Then rose the wind and wave and thought to fright 
The heedless lantern, shining through the night 
To guard a boat at toss in harbor-way. 
So swung the light through the untranquil gloom. 
So swung the light through midnight vigils wan. 
So swung the light to face the wandering wave 
While slept the sailors in the slumber-room. 
Content, at rest, and tranquil till the dawn. 
A little light hath power to bless and save. 



147 



Fearfulness Makes Estimate of Himself 

V/EA, I am like a man who sits 
•■• All day and sharpens sword 

With brow that leans and looks and knits 
Where little grace is poured. 

He watches not the stretch of sky. 

But grimly looketh down : 
He notes not where the wild birds fly, 

But weaves his sullen frown. 

From morn to night through days and days 

He sitteth by his gate 
And sharpens sword in many ways, 

But never is elate. 

His sword he sharpens years on years 

And never seeks the fight; 
But takes accounting of his fears 

And swears the day is night. 

He sits while battles march along, 
Nor marks their mighty tread: 

He sits while mighty issues throng: 
He might as well be dead. 

148 



He sits as listless as a sleep 
And sharpens sword away: 

He sits while those about him weep 
And watch him growing gray. 

He stoops and mutters as he whets 

The sword he whets away 
Until he grasps a hilt, which frets 

Because there was no fray. 

He sits and whets, but hath no blade- 
He whets the empty air; 

Nor all these years hath he dismayed 
A foeman anywhere. 

And Death comes by, along that way, 
With naked sword in hand. 

But would not lift his sword to slay 
This eflSgy of sand. 



149 



I 



The Martyr 



IT dawns at last, 
My morning, full of God, 
My strange, glad day. I plod 
No more. I east 

Mine eyes on high 
And feel the glory whence. 
Long time, my recompense 

Hath come. My sky, 

Which oft hath gloomed 
Across my heart full black. 
Hath now no longer lack 

Of splendor. Doomed 

I seemed, and lost; 
But now my joy hath mirth; 
My morn has come. Its birth 

Hath melted frost 

From death and life. 
I carol where I wept: 
I waken where I slept. 

And cease from strife. 

150 



M 



My Prairies 

Y prairies, how ye stretch afar, 
Nor ever faint or weary grow. 

From morning dawn to evening star 
Ye widely wander to and fro. 



Ye are the vagabonds of earth, — 

The emerald majestic ride 
Of wind-blessed spaces, sown to dearth 

And fertile growing, side by side. 

My prairies, where the blithe flowers grow. 
Whipped every way by roaming winds 

That laugh to be beleaguered so 
By glee that never respite finds. 

My prairies, where I had my birth, 
Where my sweet mother leaned to kiss 

Me first — where, at the last on earth. 
My rest-place shall be, when men miss 

Me from your windy spaces where 

I loved, through all these sun-drenched 
years. 
By day or night or dusk, to fare 

With heart that looked through smiles or 
tears. 

151 



My prairies, men shall come and pass, 
Exultant as the wild lark's song. 

And trample on your flowers and grass. 
Nor know than mine a love more strong. 

Ye had for me the very breath 
Of liberty — grass-tanged, so free 

It can not be undone by death. 
Ye mind me of eternity. 



152 



Friend, Rest Thee! 

V/EA, I will rest, but not to-day; 
A To-day is set apart to toil. 
My day of rest is far away : 

To-day I thrust with battle foil. 

The rest that balms me with its breath 

Is ever near and still remote. 
To-day I make my fight with Death, 

And climb the sky where day-dawns float. 

To-day I clutch the hands of men 

All grimed and rough and labor-scarred. 

Their hands and mine must break open 
The surly gates by centuries barred. 

Of rest you spake? O genial word, 
I long for it with yearning wide; 

But it awhile must be deferred 
Until I join the glorified. 



153 



O Sea! 

'O gray, so wild, so wide, so strange, so bleak, 
' So swift with all the weapons of despair. 
So sowed with faces drowned and floating hair 
Spread all abroad, and empty hands and weak. 

Above thee lifts the azure sky and domed: 
Below thee builds the level of the world: 
Across thee are the foaming tempests hurled: 
Athwart thee have the gentle zephyrs roamed. 

Upon thy stretching sands the ships have 

shoaled. 
And far aloft the mystic clouds have curled, 
Like battle banners by the wind unfurled, 
And on all shores thy wander-waves have rolled. 

Thou glory palpitant, thou strength sublime, 
Thou bridge across the spaciousness of earth, 
Thou rapture and thou passion strong as death, 
Thou art the ruthless majesty of time. 



154 



At Night 

THE leaf is at drip, 
For the night is at dew; 
And the owl has his quip 
With the dark sky of blue. 

And the whippoorwill calls 

To his mate on the nest; 
And the slumber-song falls 

On the babe at the breast. 

And the still of the night 

Can be heard in the soul. 
For sky-lamps are a-light 

And life's wounds are made whole. 



155 



I Plucked a Feather From an Eagle's 

Wing 

I PLUCKED a feather from an eagle's wing, 
And thought to write a song of epic might, 
Whose deep-toned music should men's dreams 
excite 
And plaudits — which, as seas, should swing 
In ever-widening billows, and should ring 
Like living laughter that should change the 

night 
And silence into joy and grace and light. 
And make its gloom and solitudes to sing. 
I wrote — and no one read my epic through. 
And then I found a feather from a mourning 

dove, 
Dropped from its wing in flying through a wood, 
And wrote a psalm of pain and pity, true 
To life, and tender with a wasteless love: 
And weary hearts both read and understood. 



156 



Nor Reckoned on the Miracle of Spring 

T^E winter hath been weary, long, and cold: 
•I The snows have banked them deep in wood 
and lane: 
The north wind piped reiterant refrain 
Of loneliness and care, or carol bold: 
Bleak storms have reveled over hill and wold. 
How hardly shall the flowers bloom again. 
And pastures answer to the gentle rain. 
Which shall entice the sheep from winter's fold. 
'T was thus I fretted in the wintry days. 
And made gray days yet grayer with my plaint 
Nor reckoned on the miracle of spring. 
Spring came, — a wash of balmy winds, a haze 
Of violet, a waft of perfume faint; 
And then — a bluebird, voice and wing! 



157 



N 



Not Here 

AY, ye fond hearts that break with bitterness. 

Ye women needing solace in your stress, 
I tell ye, stay your weeping. His caress 
Shall balm ye lonely, in your loneliness. 
He is not here. 



Nay, nay, ye Marys and ye Magdalene, 
I show ye vision earth hath never seen. 
Wipe dry your eyes. Tears must not intervene. 
Ye shall break hearts with laughter soon, I ween. 
He is not here! 

He is arisen, heard ye what I said? 
He is not here, a-sleeping with the dead. 
To death He hath brought sunup and hath sped 
To shoreless light and glory hallowed. 
He is not here ! 

L'ENVOI. 

Aye, now ye singing women, 
Ye heard me what I said. 
For lo, your eyes are smiling 
Which were with weeping red. 
He is not here! 
158 



The Poet's Thoughts 

*TTHEY come, he knows not whence: 
■■■ They come, he knows not why. 
They come as comes a Providence 
Blown from the viewless sky. 

They go, he knows not where: 
They go, he knows not why. 

They wing the viewless air 
To hearts a-near to die. 



159 



When Doubts Arise 

THEY strive around me, voices in the dark — 
Uninterruptible and strange — and stenched 
By dull and lewd sulphurous flame unquenched 
From evening shadows to the morning lark. 
They strive and smite, blood-lustful like the shark 
That crimsons the blue sea with blood, wine- 
drenched 
With juice of life on life, with hunger wrenched. 
So wrangle they. The voices whine and bark. 
I strive to bar my ears, and so bring peace: 
I strive to match their clamor with my voice: 
I strive with angers to out-anger them; 
And all is vain, and brings me no release. 
I then bethink me, and sing loud, ''Rejoice, 
I make my prayer!" and touch God's garment 
hem. 



160 



Life Dawdled with Me Smiling Many 

a Year 



L 



IFE dawdled with me smiling many a year, 
As if all time were tireless May and Jmie, 
Whose music never could be out of tune. 
And on whose safety could intrude no fear; 
And so we romped together swift with cheer. 
And I, wild-carolled at this riant boon 
Wherewith in joy, sweet life had dowered me 
soon 
And left my life a sky high, blue, and clear. 
Then with a wild and rude celerity 
Life, scornful, seized on both my useless hands 
And crushed them into vigilance of pain. 
While my face wrinkled like a fretful sea, 
"What meanest thou? I bid thee loose my 

bands!" 
Whereat, — "By ruth, life climbeth into gain." 



11 



161 



Far Went the Road and Winding 

FAR went the road and winding 
Among the morning hills. 
Perpetual comfort finding 
And sunlit, singing rills. 

Far on, away, and hasting 
Toward what it never knew. 

Eternal wonder tasting 

Where bluebells gently grew. 

Through woods where shadows linger 

When sun is at his noon 
And where the sweet winds finger 

Wild harps with dreams atune. 

Anon, among the sand dunes 
Tossed up from waters wild 

With strangely plaintive grand runes 
To thrill the sage or child. 

It sweats through town and city 
And through the blessed fields, 

And sobs not any pity. 

And yet swift comfort yields. 

162 



It trudges toward the mountains, 
The mountains green or bleak. 

And loves their rushing fountains 
And all the words they speak. 

Onward, forever onward. 
To river, farm and sea. 

Forever climbing dawnward 
In rainy, dusty glee. 



16S 



The Hand of God 

T^Y Hand, O God, Thy pierced Hand, 
1 I pray Thee, give it me; 
For on Life's icy stairs I stand 
And fear their treachery. 

Thy hand, so strong, so firm, so sure. 

What time I hold it fast, 
In storm's alarms, I stand secure 

And banter with the blast. 

hand of God, when held by Thee, 
What can my pulses stir? 

1 walk straight on, upheld and free. 
And naught can me deter. 

I hold God's hand, God's pierced hand; 

Its wound doth bring me hope: 
My way I do not understand. 

And yet I do not grope. 

I hold Thy hand. Thy hand holds me: 

I climb Life's icy stair 
As I would walk a quiet lea, — 

No danger anywhere. 

164 



The Hush of Evening Settles on My 

Heart 

TTHE hush of evening settles on my heart, 
•■' No turbulence of day rolls thunder peal. 
Along the uplands of my soul. The weal 
Of life smiles gently and asserts its part 
In heavenly, chiming solacings. The mart 
Clanks not like warrior feet whose voice of 

steel 
Affrights; nor cares of soul make fierce appeal 
Of torrid toil and pain with bitter smart. 
The sun is set. I, tired, sink to rest. 
The purple sky grows ashen, sweet, and still; 
I hear the tir-ra-lira of the girls 
And boys at laughter as they face the west 
Where swings the silver moon. The dew hath 

chill; 
And from the sleepy chimney wood smoke 
curls. 



165 



A Summer Night 

SPICED through and through 
With Summer breath, 
And wet with dew 
And free from death. 

The night-air streams 

Along the hills, 
Where starlight dreams 

And grace distills. 

A night-bird calls 

Reiterant note 
Which limpid falls 

To pause and float 

Across the vale 

And to the lift 
Of willows pale. 

Which sway and drift. 

Asleep, yet not 

Asleep — awake 
To love, and thought, 

And night, and break 

166 



Of dawn, and drift 

Of perfume and 
Or slow or swift, 

The mellow land 

Of mercy blest, 
And heart at calm 

Of faith and breast 
And life at balm. 

Awake, asleep, 

It matters not, 
We may not weep 

With heartsease fraught. 



167 



Across All Worlds I Think One Day 
To Stride 

ACROSS all worlds I think one day to stride, 
^ Ill-fitted for such journey though my feet 
Would seem, which limp and weary for retreat 
At journey on a landscape far from wide. 
And such foot-sore attempt would fain deride 
A vaster venture, where the hills, so fleet 
Of foot, outrun all high attempts replete 
With courage. So I stand, perplext, defied. 
And yet, in nothing daunted, I proceed. 
With faith like banner swung to morning winds, 
And feel the vastness fitted to my soul. 
And walk I will, although my feet must bleed ! 
My heart shall ache until it surely finds 
Before its face eternities unroll. 



168 



I 



I Know a Glorious Mountain Where 
the Day 

KNOW a glorious mountain where the day 
Stands ever-radiant and no night-time falls, 
Nor ever weary wind of winter calls 

The snows to fill the empty nests. There play 

The west winds with the south winds and betray 
The hiding place of flowers. The mountain walls 
Climb dawnward radiantly, nor ever palls 

The blue far sky and fair to ashen gray. 

All-splendrous stands this mountain far away 

All-glory lit and sweet with balsam-breath; 

And where the many sing in vast accord 

The singers stand in glorious array; 

And never comes the cowled monk called Death. 

Majestic stands The Mountain of the Lord. 



169 



A 



This Day I Front Me on Eternity 

T morn I said, when day was at gray dawn, 
"This day I front me on eternity;" 
And in full sense of that paternity 
Whereof tall angels with majestic brawn 
Of wing do make continual boast, I, drawn 
As hasting freshets bound from hill to sea, 
Do urge my journey to eternity. 
By nothing wearied, and in nothing wan. 
So, blithe as morn with dewy freshness glad, 
I run elate along the climbing hill. 
And pass my happy day with heart at song: 
I take the mountain to my breast, not sad 
Because below me smokes the plain. The thrill 
Of everlastingness doth make me strong. 



170 



I 



I Rest, Content 

F troubles vex me while I take 
My way along life's rugged road, 

I will not any outcry make, 
Nor even murmur at my load. 

If tempests make my noon hour dark. 
And deluge me with autumn rain, 

I still will press me toward God's mark. 
Where Christ shall be my deathless gain. 

So evermore I turn my face 

Toward God's Jerusalem on high. 

Where Christ prepares for me a place, 
And love and life shall never die. 



171 



I Climb the Hills 



I 



CLIMB the hills, the weary hills— 
The long, grim slants whose ways are steep- 
Where only weariness distills. 
And where the climbers climb and weep. 

Those hills I climb! Yet, what are they 
To one whose journey reaches, calm, 

Across eternities away. 
Where blow cool winds of blessed balm? 

For what are height and sunburnt plain 
That bring to me wild winds of loss. 

Who hold the everlasting gain. 
The smile and sunrise of the cross? 

Beyond this murk my mountain sweeps 
And thrusts above the cruel dark, 

Where never heartache sits and weeps. 
But only sings the heavenly lark. 

Ah me, my heart, hush all thy grief, 
Although thy grief hath sore distress. 

Thy sobs rain on the ways beneath: 
Thy laughter shall the mountain bless. 

172 



I 



So climb thy hill, my bleeding feet, 
Nor any moment cease thy praise. 

For thou art careless of defeat 
Whose conquest owns life's deathless days. 



I Think of Him 

THINK of him when daylight slants toward night, 
And all the sky is crowded with strange glow. 
Caught on the vagrant clouds and, holden so, 

May last a little ere it loses light. 

I think of him when day is lost to sight. 

When gloaming deepens and the shadows grow 
Their forests to the stars and dim winds blow 

From space to space, irrelevant in flight. 

I think of him who comes to me no more 

Who often came in days which now are fled; 

Whose smile was winsome as a woman's kiss. 

When, without knock, he opened wide my door 

Like to an angel guest, but now is dead. 

I think of him and him shall ever miss. 



173 



Heart's Desire 



A 



lS for me. 

May I be sung to 

By the sea; 

And my soul, 

Let it be clung to 

By life's whole. 

For my brain. 
Let it be talked to 

By the rain. 

My life's mart. 
Let it be walked through 

By God's heart. 

And for me. 
Let me be sung to 

By God's sea. 

Still, for me. 
Let me be clung to. 

Lord, by Thee. 



174 



I 



I Saw the Leader of an Orchestra 

SAW the leader of an orchestra 

Who stood, not having any instrument — 
Not vioHn, where joy and tears are blent; 
Not flute to blow on or to touch and draw 
Sad, silent meanings out; nor cymbal's flaw 
To stammer stutterer's speech; nor drum where 

pent 
Wild tumults are and jarring discords, meant 
For battle charge, for peace and right and law. 
So without instrument the Master stood; 
But at his lift of hand the music wakes. 
And bow and lip and hand conspire to find 
The hid upbraidings and the subtle good 
Each flute or drum or babbling trumpet makes. 
To beckon music like to stormy wind. 



175 



I 



I Know a Wildwood Coppice 

KNOW a wildwood coppice where 
The shadows and the sunHght share 

The summer's day; 
And where at night the whippoorwill 
Doth with his moonhght phrases fill 

The place alway. 

At summer, there the drip of rain 
Doth hymn a sibilant refrain 

For Grief to hear. 
At autumn, there the sad leaves float, 
And sobs pipe from the blackbird's throat 

No notes of cheer. 

And there the spleenful winter writes 
His arabesques on shivering nights. 

And beats his drums 
And shouts, with drunken brawler's voice, 
"The year is dead! Rejoice, rejoice. 

No summer comes!" 

< 
And in that coppice, growing wild. 
Come wind-flowers, tossing undefiled 

When soft winds blow; 

176 



For spring, with gentle hand, hath slain 
The winter wild, and brought again 
The wind-flower's snow. 

I know a coppice which my heart 
Haunts, at the dawn or twilight dim, 

With happy songs. 
And where, when I am sorely pressed, 
My spirit comes to pray and rest 

Apart from throngs. 

A quiet coppice know I where 
My God hath planted forests fair 

For me, for me! 
Where I may hie and sing and be 
At rest beneath the greenwood tree. 

Full merrily. 



12 



177 



Great Swordless Captain 

Lincoln 

REAT swordless captain, in whose rough-hewn 
hand 

The majesty of might is resident; 

Thou whom democracy named President, 
To rule in equity a troubled land, 
And for eternal rightness take thy stand, — 

With thee, with scant delay, fierce armies went, 

And voice of gun and sword made argument 
For liberty this earth could understand. 
Great captain of the princely art of peace, 
Thou new and occidental manhood-plan, 
The fearless leader of a fearless race, — 
Thou swordless magistrate, whose fierce decease 
Has pointed manhood to a worldhood man. 
We look with hope and tears upon thy face. 



178 



Out of the Deeps 

DEEP in dark deeps, 
With blackness for my sky. 
My soul but weeps, 

"How full of sin am I." 

Lost in bleak night. 

Below all hope I lie: 
Out of God's sight, 

I, doomed, sink to die. 

Out of such deeps 

My soul to God doth call. 
Up to those steeps 

Where God is all in all. 

From out my deeps 

My God hath heard my cry: 
I climb the steeps 

Through Him into His sky. 



179 



The Vapor Spoke 

"T^HE flower which blooms and fades 
A Is kinsman, soul, of thine: 
Starlight which night invades. 
And silvers fields and brine, 

"Is thy true kinsman, too: 
Brief as that starlight, thou, — 

It dies at break of blue 

To crimson dawn and glow. 

"Fleet as a blowing wind 

Across a clover field, 
Thy life which lived and sinned 

Or holy deed did yield.'* 

All this the Vapor spake, 
The vapor of the night. 

With words the heart to break 
And courage put to flight. 

'T was only vapor spoke. 
And not the day at dawn; 

A harp forlorn that broke, — 
And not unf righted brawn. 

180 



The Fog that hugs the earth 

Hath Httle wit to know 
The soul's immortal worth 

To live and love and grow. 

An Easter Hymn 

LORD, Thou hast risen from the dead, 
-^ Thy grave is empty now: 
No longer is the tomb Thy bed 
Nor winter-cold Thy brow. 

Our graves are open to God's south. 

And His noon-light shines in: 
His might, which knows not flood nor drouth. 

Hath conquered death and sin. 

If our beloved faint and die. 

And we are sick with grief, 
We laud, and sing, what time we sigh, 

*'In Christ is our belief." 

He fled the grave, His grave and ours. 

And left it tenantless; 
And for those first, glad Easter hours 

His name this day we bless. 
181 



The Return 

SHE seed me cummin' ! How she knowed 
'T was me a-eummin' down the road 
I can't remark, no more kin you; 
But, sure and sartin, it was true. 

She seed me cummin', loungin' like. 
Jest es a stranger. Nary pike 
Ner gun across my shoulder flung, 
Only an empty sleeve I swung. 

She seed me! Standin' at her door. 
The sunshine washin' of the floor; 
She leaned and looked beneath her hand. 
And then give me to understand 

She seed me cummin', fer she came 
A runnin', callin' of my name, 
And kissed me, hugged me to her heart 
. Es ef we never more must part. 

And when the war of life is done. 
And that uncommon victory's won. 
And I go marchin' through the gate 
Where white-robed angel sentries wait, 

182 



She'll see me cummin', and will run 
And ketch and kiss her only son, 
And call my name and lead me through 
The house God built fer me and you. 



I Found a Broken Harp Upon the Ground 



I 



FOUND a broken harp upon the ground, 
Where it had fallen from the weary hand 
Of harpist fading to the better land. 
I had no thought to waken it to sound: 
I only felt how life, not death, had crowned 
This pale, spent singer, and, with those who 

stand 
Before the King, he stood in high demand 
Of God, a singer of God's love profound. 
So out of love for one I had not known. 
And out of pity for a broken harp, 
I lifted up the wounded instrument, 
And from it came a melody like blown 
Crescendoes from the crystal sea, nor sharp 
Nor dull, but tears and hope and conquest blent. 



183 



An Angel Came 

ONE noon I met an angel by the way, 
And, giving hand of welcome, bade him stay 

Beneath my roof and rest. 
He looked aweary, having traveled far; 
From heaven he came, in that remoter star 
Than men have mapped on the celestial sphere. 
With grave, sweet face he stood. His voice was clear 

As silver bells. He dressed 
In mystic, seamless garment, dyed with blood; 
And round him glory whitened like a flood 
Of morning light. My home with many a guest. 
Brave men and pure, had oftentime been blessed; 

But now, — an angel stood. 
Tall and compassionate, beneath my roof. 
At heart, I thought, "How shall I give him proof 
That he is welcome .f^" "This home," I said, 
"Is thine. Wait thou until the heat be fled. 

And by the stream and wood 
Cool shadows gather. Angel, be my guest, 
Sit thou in quietude and take thy rest. 

My name is — " "Nay," the gracious angel said, 
"Thy name is known in heaven; " and then he fled, 
Swift, like the light across the ample sea, 
But left an angel at my heart with me. 

184 



Beyond the Gates 

WHEN day is done, and from the gaudy sky 
The glory fades, 
Then quiet falls; and rest comes by and by 
With night's kind shades. 

When life is done, and climbed its ragged steeps, 

All hot suns set; 
When in vast joy that neither sighs nor weeps 

We then are met, — 

What rest shall hold our hands, and grace. 

Like evening psalm. 
Shall whisper peace ! Then from the troubled 
face 

Heaven's blessed calm 

Shall every tear-stain wipe away, and fear; 

With Christ at hand 
No heartache can through golden years draw 
near 

That heavenly land. 



185 



The Tavern of the Comforted 



o 



TAVERN of the Comforted, 

Upon the windy hill, 
Where all wild winds are full of wrath. 
And only hearts are still. 

O Tavern of the Comforted, 

Thou Hostelry of Christ, 
Where souls at struggle and in loss 

With Comfort find a tryst. 

O Tavern of the Comforted, 

Built on the angry hills, 
Where hearts which meet the Comforter 

Glad peace unfailing fills. 

O Tavern of the Comforted, 

Thou edifice of God, 
In thee is rest unspeakable 

Where storms walk not abroad. 

O Tavern of the Comforted, 
Thy Host stands at thy door 

And bids each traveler ** Welcome, 
A welcome evermore." 

186 



The storms clash round with angry gusts, 

And curse with voices vast. 
The Tavern of the Comforted 

Is built to stay this blast. 

Tavern of the Comforted, 
Where woes no longer fret, 

1 bless my Christ for thy still rooms 
The while my cheeks are wet. 

There care lies down in weariness 

And rests its woe with One 
Who keeps house for the comforted 

Unto the rise of sun. 



187 



M 



Life, Be Stern 

IX me a drink, O Life, 

A sullen drink of rue; 
Pour in both pain and strife. 

Pour in starlight and dew. 

Stay not thy hand, great Life, 

Be not for me afraid; 
Be surgeon's skill and knife, 

1 shall not be dismayed. 

Mix me a stern, strong drink 
Which scorched the lips of men 

Who climbed unto Death's brink 
To change the Now to Then. 

Stir black and bitter wine. 
Whereof the heroes drank 

Who wrought deeds stern and fine 
Before in death they sank. 

Give me no drug to hush 

The pain that burns the soul: 

Mix me the tempest's rush 

With waves that crush and roll. 
188 



Thy hands, stern Life, are red — 

As red as forest fire — 
With squeezing grapes that bled 

With torrent-Hke desire. 

Nowbeit, wine like this 
Has nurtured men of old, 

Strong men, God's rod to kiss. 
And turn earth's earth to gold. 

Wherefore I pray thee. Life, 
Mix me thy bitter drink: 

Blend for me woe and strife 
To live, to love, to think. 

To rush against the spears; 

Nor fret because the barb 
Digs deep and Death appears 

And robes me in his garb. 



189 



A Hymn 

CALL loud the triumphs of the Lord: 
Wake, wake, my heart, and sing. 
Wake, harp and voice, in vast accord. 
My soul, thy praises bring. 

The Lord who sphered this dim, blue star. 

Him praise. Him magnify; 
That Lord who journeyed from afar 

To set His cross on high. 

Praise Him! Let every single soul 

Lift high an organ voice; 
Let all by Christ the Lord made whole 

Sing now, "Rejoice, rejoice!" 

Halleluiah, halleluiah 

Unto thy King, my heart. 
Halleluiah, halleluiah. 



190 



Wings 

TJAD I such wings as lordly eagles wear, 
* *- And I could circle mountain peaks and soar 
Above their spires, and in deep valleys pour 
Reiterant circling shadows while through air 
I voyaged as a boat through seas, and bear 
Me on in triumph over ocean's shore. 
So far and high my flight that ocean's roar 
Signaled me not, — could I with eagles share. 
My flight were not so high as now, my wings 
Less mighty than the wings which me upbear. 
My eye less keen than sight which now is mine : 
**I am God's son," my joyous spirit sings; 
I soar sublime above earth's dust and care. 
And wing my way to heaven with flight divine. 



191 



Along the Ceilings of My Being's 

Rooms 



A 



LONG the ceilings of my being's rooms 
The cobwebs hang. This housekeeping is poor 
It seems. The dust hes thick around. Obscure 
The objects which the place adorns. The glooms 
Of night are settled here as thick as tombs 
Along a windy battle-hill. The Cure 
Of souls hath not been here this while to lure 
My soul awake. No rose of morning blooms. 

Thou who orderest aright the room 
Of spaces infinite where burn the suns, 

And nothing swerves from order bright and high, 

1 pray Thee rearrange my house. The gloom. 
Cobwebs, and dust, despair of soul, what shuns 
The light, extrude in answer to my cry. 



192 



All 's Well 



M 



.Y heart, 
The sun has set. 
Night's paths 
With dews are wet. 

Sleep comes 
Without regret: 

Stars rise 
When sun is set. 

All 's well. 
God loves thee yet. 

Heart, smile, 
Sleep sweet, nor fret. 



13 



193 



L 



Child Dreams 

ONG since, a child, I wished the stars were close 
And neighborly, so I could reach a hand 
And grasp the shining baubles and command 
Their comely light, and grew ofttimes morose 
Because my hand reached out, could not engross 
The thing I longed for, nor could understand 
That what I longed for was a foreign land, 
And not a dooryard voice, strong-breathed, 

verbose. 
But now when childhood days give place to 

strength 
Of manhood, and life's little thoughts arise 
To heights sublime and stand expectant, strong 
On frontiers far and fair and grand, at length 
I know with all my depths of soul, my Skies 
Command, ** Climb to the stars for which dreams 
long." 



194 



I 



The Blessed Book 

LOOKED on a dim plain when sun had set — 
A wide, wan plain upon whose margin, far, 
•There glinted the lone light of one lone star; 
And on one marge the solemn sea did fret; 
And on this plain the centuries had met. 

The books the great had scrolled with iron bar 
Of girth and weight for pen to make or mar, 
And books the little souls had writ, still wet 
With futile dew, yea, all the books were there 
That men had penned in days of stress and war 
Or days of summer evening's calm and rest. 
They stood erect as soldiers, each head bare. 
When silence smote their shouting voices, for, 
August, there stood the Book the Lord had blessed. 



195 



o 



Hymn 

LORD, my God, my feet ascend 

What time they make their way to Thee; 
For where Thou dwellest is the end. 

My journeys make eternally. 

And where Thou dwellest is on high, 
No matter where Thy dwelling stands, 

I dimb to Thee, and by and by 

That climb shall lead to Beulah Lands. 

I lift mine eyes, though wet with tears, 
Unto Thy mountain morning-browed: 

I make my way, though fogged with fears, 
Unto Thy cross where Life is vowed. 

My princeliest is where I meet 
The Christ upon the holy mount. 

My exaltation at His feet. 
My absolution at His fount. 

Lord, my God, my love is Thine, 
My heart lies broken at Thy cross: 

1 catch the radiancy divine. 

And know not murmuring nor loss. 

196 



Help Thou my feet to climb Thy way: 

Help Thou my thought to mount Thy sky: 

Gird Thou my loves that they may stay 
Ensphered in Thee and things on high. 

I Saw an Angel with a Smiling Face 

I SAW an angel with a smiling face 
And gentle look, who stood a little space 
Across a field of sweet forget-me-nots, 
And conning over many gentle thoughts; 
For, as he stood, his smiling grew more sweet; 
And in a gentle brook beside his feet 
He swiftly cast rose petals not a few, 
Some sweet and chaste and glistering with dew, 
Some nipped and wan as bitten by the frost; 
But still rose petals in the stream he tost. 
And from his shoulders swept strong wings of 

light 
That shone like stars across a summer night. 
A lily wore he blooming on his heart; 
And there he stood with smiling lips apart. 
As if to sing. Whereat, I, unafraid, 
"My homage! Thou,'' I said, "art life, God's 

breath." 
" Come nearer, brother," saith he, " I am Death." 

197 



M 



Then God Takes a Hand 

Y life is a plowman's field 

That lies from sea to sea. 
The soil is too poor to yield 

Much fruit for eternity. 

The soil is but pebbled grit: 
The plow turns up the stones, 

Nor even blackbirds flit 

Where furrows run. And moans 

The plowman called Life, "What gain 
To me who farm for bread. 

That here I should toil in vain, 
A farmer vanquished .f^" 

Then God takes a hand and brings 
Enrichment for the ground; 

And Life, the hale farmer, sings, 
"Gold harvesttimes abound." 

And at the red set of sun, 
When summer reaches night, 

With eternity begun. 

Whose day-dawn breaketh bright, 

198 



It may be that my poor land 
Shall radiant harvests yield. 

Because it was God took hand 
In farming my poor field. 



I Saw the Swift Evanishment of Night 



I 



SAW the swift evanishment of night: 
I saw the wild rose shimmer of the dawn: 
I saw the rapture of the leap of sun. 
When all the shadows banished were by light: 
I heard the robin-song across the lawn 
And felt a glory like a high deed done. 
I rise to watch the dawning of the day, 
When from the crabbed night bright day forth 

fares 
And bears upon his shining shoulders cares 
And joys, unruliness and song, and sway 
Of hearts which in God's hands are potter's 

clay, 
To be oft-shaped and so become the wares 
Of Heaven and the delight of Him who shares 
Our toils to make of life one endless day. 



199 



Thou Shalt Not 

"V/TE shall not take God's man who toils for food 
A And break him on the wheel of questless toil, 
And warp his soul by weary days and nights. 
Wherein is little gain and scanty bread. 
Ye shall not squeeze, slow-oozing, drop by drop, 
Heart-blood, till where his heart was stout 
There now is but a husk which out to sky 
Would rattle in the wind and make a moan 
Like wet wind blowing through the leafless trees. 
Ye shall not grind the children twixt the stones 
Of scanty laughter and unceasing work. 
Nor plow deep furrows in hearts innocent 
By long and feverish hours and scanty wage, 
Which earns not house and food and clothes. 
Nor makes a happy home where virtue sits and 

sings. 
The God who cares for beasts and sternly cried, 
"Nay, muzzle not the ox which treadeth out 
The corn," that God is wide awake and stern 
To now, and has his eyes on men and holds 
A trihulum impatient in His hands 
To smite, to sorely smite, the surly sons 
Of earth who render ruthlessness to men. 
Their brothers by the fashioning of God. 

200 



Ye shall not hurt the weaklings of the flock! 

Ye shall not trample on the sore beset 

Or weaponless, the immature in years 

Or gifts. They, too, are men, and sorely need 

A share and chance and air and sun and hearth. 

God is their Daysman, and will watch for them 

And stand between them and all sullen greed. 

And hear their clamors ere they come to voice. 

His gentleness shall surely make them great. 

Wherefore, all we of high or low degree 

Who hire a helper in our daily deed 

This shall we hear nor ever more forget: 

The deep beatitude of God abides 

On such as ever play the man with men; 

And God's stern summons to all sons of earth 

Against encroachment, is the "Thoushalt not." 



201 



A Resurrection Song 

npHERE is a song the ransomed sing 
1 With wild, exultant breath, 
While all the chimes of Glory ring, 
"Christ triumphed over death." 

The Heavenly Hills are full of folk 
Who loved the Lord Christ here. 

And gladly bore His holy yoke, 
And lived devoid of fear. 

And now they chant the Triumph Hymn 
Before the Great White Throne, 

And lift a voice with cherubim 
To Jesus Christ alone. 

They taste the tireless victory 

Of resurrection joy; 
And for the far eternity 

Their ransomed powers employ. 

Where death no more holds surly sway. 
They dwell in endless spring; 

And where no life grows stooped or gray. 
They Jesu's praises sing. 

202 



I 



TTie Desert Journey 

FRONT me on the wild, wide waste. 
Where grow the cactus and the sage: 

My fiery engine makes slow haste; 
My spirit feels the desert rage. 

I chafe as chained eagle might, 
I lean and look and scent the sky; 

I clamor for an eagle flight 

To spaces where all streams run dry. 

The air is dry as furnace breath — 
Aroyas where the streams are not, 

The long, slow reaches, sown to death. 
As empty as a vacant thought. 

The desert with its crystal sky. 
The desert with its furnace flame. 

The desert where the lost men die 
With thirst and famine beyond name. 

The spacious desert reaching far 
As any human cry may pierce- 



Where plinth and plant and sod and star 
Seem like a desert Bedouin fierce. 

203 



The desert where no orchids flower. 
Nor any corn-fields guard the roads. 

Which puts to rout all human power, 
And all our human pride corrodes. 

The desert where the silences 

Are hushed beyond the calms of men. 
As death lifts voice all whiles and says, 

"Mine are the land and horizon." 



204 



Where Lies That Land? 

WHERE lies the land of which ye spake, 
The gleeful land with voice all song, 
Where only happy breezes shake 
The happy leaves the whole day long? 

The happy land where clouds do throw 
A smiling sunlight on the grass. 

Where all day long the wild birds go. 
And sweet as chimes the glad hours pass. 

Where Fret and Care fold unused hands, 
With eyes brim-full of deep content. 

And full of happy wonder stands 

Who drives Heartache to banishment. 

Where is that land, that sunrise land. 

Where ecstasy its carol keeps. 
Like lute-notes from a dreamful hand. 

Nor any comer ever weeps. 

Where is it? Keep me not arm's length 
From that kind secret hid too long; 

Tell me, for with my might of strength, 
I care to pilgrim with that throng. 

205 



That land where dimb the purple hills, 
From which the shining rivers flow, 

Where all the greening valley thrills 
With hymns I heard, but do not know. 

The land ye spake of when your eyes 
Were day-dawn bright, with wonder lit. 

The land of ocean-like surprise, 
Where joy and duties interknit. 

Where is that shore where swing the ships, 
Blown hither by the blessed winds. 

And from each prow the music drips: 
Each passenger contentment finds. 

Sun-land of song, where liest Thou? 

What star abides above thy place .^ 
My heart faints with thy wonder now! 

How shall I bear to see that Face? 



206 



I Stood at Bay Among Tall, Ragged 

Peaks 

I STOOD at bay among tall, ragged peaks: 
From fissured sides eternal snowstorms blew. 
On all their wastes no single grass-blade grew. 
Down wild ravines the bitter tempest shrieks, 
And on the wandering, luckless traveler wreaks 
Vengeance perpetual. Nor gentle dew 
Here falls, nor bloom the violets blue; 
Nor ever, singing, flow the crystal creeks. 
The while winds whistled past me dismally 
I saw a man agrope amongst the crags, 
With peering eyes obliterate with grief — 
Eyes blind as rock, hopeless abysmally — 
And harsh voice croaking, like a hundred hags, 
**This is The Wilderness of Unbelief." 



207 



Thy City, Lord 

"TTIE city blisters in the sun. The streets 
1 Are warped with heat and packed with crush- 
ing crowds 
Of penury and wealth; and boiling clouds 
Of sooty smoke befog the skies. Lust greets 
Chaste virtue unashamed. The watchmen's beats 
Oft lead where drunken mm*der sits and shrouds 
His soul in infamy; and frowsled dowds 
Go past; and shame with murder meets. 
And yet, Thy city, Lord, is this vast place, 
So seeded down to shame and lechery. 
It was o'er it the Christ did weep long since: 
It was toward it He turned His yearning face 
What time His cruel day drew near to die. 
By city walls, there died the city's Prince. 



208 



Shakespeare 

TTHE years have clambered on with hastening feet 
■■• Since first I read from thee, thou master bold. 
And play of thine to play of thine unrolled — 
Grim tragedies where pain with pain did meet. 
High histories where army, kingdom, fleet 

Flung each at each and masteries enscrolled, 
And shining comedies whose stories, told. 
Have driven to sunshine life's dull cloud and sleet. 
Once was I lad, but now am grown a man; 
And thy strange thrall on me hath grown till now 
The dizzy height thou wast against the night 
Hath higher grown than beckoning stars. The 

plan 
Of thy weird mind behind that placid brow 
Hath taken featuring of mystic light. 



14 



209 



My Life Walks Out Into the Dawn 



M 



Y life walks out into the dawn, 

The sunrise climbs where I am come; 

I find large lines of battle drawn 
That tingle to the crashing drum. 



The day is come, the day is sweet. 
But so are toil and sweat of fight; 

The green earth shakes to charging feet. 
The battle staggers, might on might. 

The wild rush answers to my blood: 
Volcanoes boil within my heart: 

Disasters bubbling on the flood 
Stern majesty to life impart. 

The day is fair, though sword and plow 
Do mingle flow of blood and sweat; 

The day is glad, although my brow 
With sweat and blood all day is wet. 

If I would stand where day hath dawned. 
And be with God a worthy guest, 

To-morrow and the days beyond 
Must all be full of arduous quest. 

210 



My Soul, One Question 

' I 'HINK'ST thou, my soul, when thou art dead 
A And lying quiet, nothing loath, 
The good of earth above thy bed, 

Shall bind them, as with sacred oath. 
Because of what thou hadst been here, 

To be the best their lives could think 
And count inconsequent all fear 

In love of thee, and boldly drink 
All fountains dry that flowed from God, 

And gladly do all gentle deeds 
For love of Christ, above the sod 

That holds thy dust like withered weeds? 

If so it hap, thou livest yet, 

Thy death is but undated birth; 

And love may smile through its regret, 
"He lives eternal in the earth." 



211 



D 



Ulysses and the Sea 
I. Ulysses Victus 

OOMED art thou, gray Ulysses, 
Spent all thy warrior might; 

Vain all thy regal battling, 
Lost like a bird in night. 



Thou wast a far-known hero, 

Sea thine antagonist. 
Now, sea alone remaineth — 

Thou art a face of mist. 

Pale as the moon, Ulysses, 
Seen through a shag of storm. 

Thou art a spent delusion. 
Dimmed to a ghost thy form. 

Drowned in the seas. Great Battler. 

Seas have their way at last! 
Crush with thy waves, great Ocean; 

All save thyself are passed. 



212 



II. Ulysses Expugnaturus. 

Waves beat the brave Ulysses down; 

They tore him with their claws and teeth: 
His only sunshine was their frown : 

They climbed aloft, he sprawled beneath. 

They tossed him as they tossed a spar 
From some wrecked ship of yesterday. 

They blew him, like a bubble, far: 

They flung him deep, where dead men stay. 

They laughed his futile might to scorn : 
They laid huge hands across his lips 

And scorned, "Thou, on to-morrow's morn, 
Shall share the yesterdays of ships." 

With all strength spent, and no shore near, 

But courage left with no regret. 
He gasped, "Grim sea, I bid thee hear: 

Know this, I shall survive thee yet." 



213 



III. Mare Victum. 

He fought the sea! 
The combing waves beat wrath on wrath; 
They crushed and climbed, and clave a path 

For shipwrecks. Glee 

They had when Death 
Came rioting along the gales 
And splintered masts and ripped the sails 

With jocund breath. 

That sea he fought: 
Those waves and winds, with riots lewd. 
He sailed against in battle mood. 

And cared for naught. 

They cowed him not. 
They wrecked him on their windy waste; 
Him, sole, forlorn, their angers chased. 

With them he wrought 

A safe return. 
He rode their lions to the shore 
And gave a name to poet-lore 

Toward which men yearn. 

214 



The Years 

YOUR eyes are stern and open wide, nor close 
At all, but never-ending vigil keep. 
And out across all serious centuries sweep. 
Like some gaunt watcher of all human woes. 
Who, pale of face and cinched of lip, in throes 
Of pain unutterable, doth not weep 
Nor let a sullen cry of pain upleap; 
But in his stress, his spirit, doth compose. 
Stern are your eyes which watch the ways of 

men: 
Stern are your lips that utter not a word; 
Stern is your heart of frozen iron made: 
Stern are your hidden hands, yet know the ken 
To crown the brows of the great undeterred 
Who knew no fear that made their hearts afraid. 



215 



When Through the Dark I Grope 

YV7HEN through the dark 
VV I grope, 

And on the husk 
Of hope 

I break my fast; 

When Death, 
With jeer, at last 

lee-breath 

Into my face 

Breathes hard, 
And I, a space, 

A shard. 

Appear, whose use 

Is lost. 
Then will I loose 

The hasp 

Of Death's tight hold 

And leap, 
As wings unfold, 

Nor creep 

216 



M 



Through the dull night, 

But dash 
From dark to light — 

A flash 

Of flame, God-sent 

And bold. 
Through heavens besprent 

Of old. 

With startled suns. 

On high 
My orbit runs 

For aye. 



Trust 

Y breath against the window-pane 

Is thick as dust. 
I, peering, look, and peer in vain: 

I can but trust. 



217 



The Welcome 



I 



WILL not chide 
The roughness of the way. 

Nor ask to ghde 
Like boat on summer bay 

Across these years. 
I love this battle thrust. 

These salt-hot tears, 
These storms, this thunder gust. 

Why should I, late 
Though I have come to earth, 

In aught abate 
A warrior's work and worth? 

Be mine the grime. 
The battle blood and dust; 

Mine be the prime 
Of famine's surly crust. 

I must not slip 
Out past the guard by dark 

With mute, dull lips 
As criminals embark, 
218 



^ 

But with a shout 
Must leap against the spears, 

With fear and doubt 
Must anger all my years. 

I must ascend 
The steeps with dangers rife, 

I must defend 
God's truth and conquer life. 

So be it then. 
Welcome the snarls and fears. 

Time hastens when 
My victory appears. 



ear 



Not 



Fear not! 

The dusk will find some light. 
Dark night some star. 
Fear not ! 
Thy sorrows shall take flight 
And wing afar. 
Fear not! 

219 



God Cares for Thee 



lOD cares for thee! 

Between His palms 
Thy hands are holden fast and glad: 

His witchery 

Thy spirit balms; 
And in His morning art thou clad. 

He cares for thee! 

The pain of God, 
With all the throes that Passion knew 

When wearily 

Christ kissed the rod, 
Was meant to give that love a clue. 

He cares ! He cares ! 

The Lord of all 
Has stretched His bow across thy cloud; 

And unawares 

Unto thy call 
Comes His, "I care," like trumpets loud. 



220 



w 



Light at Eventide 

HEN the daylight fades 

From my life's sky, 
And dusky evening shades 

Droop low and lie 

As clouds at anchor, blest 

Am I, if, far 
Or near, my eyes may rest 

On Christ, my Star. 

Then, glooms I will not chide 

Nor fear the night, 
Knowing at "eventide 

It shall be light." 



There is Dusk for the Day 

THERE is dusk for the day 
And dew for the drouth; 
There 's a hush where to pray 
And wind from the south. 

There is light on the clouds 
When daylight is spent; 

And God's mercy still crowds 
Life's hovel and tent. 
221 



As One Who Tugged At By The Sleeve 

Awakes 



A' 



S one who tugged at by the sleeve awakes 
From slumber deep, but cannot open eyes 
With suddenness to catch the wild surprise 
Of vasty sea which him confronts, but takes 
His time to rub his lids apart and shakes 
With slothful toil, his slumber off nor spies 
The shoreless majesty where distance dies 
And dawning of the everlasting breaks. 
So I whose sleeve is tugged at by the hand 
Of Providence sublime to bid me look 
And see eternity unroll like sky 
Dismantled of its cloud, do understand 
Far less than little till the Holy Book 
Doth wake my wonder with its mighty cry. 



222 



A 



TTie Christ 

MAN of sorrows He, and guest of grief. 
Who walked in quiet on life's humble ways 
And suffered all the slurs and dull dismays 
Which crush on mighty souls. His days were 

brief — 
A sudden splendor cleft with storm. Belief 
On Him grew dim, though great hearts walked 

through haze 
Of doubt and fogs of death with shouts of 
praise, 
And knew Him glorious and acclaimed Him Chief. 
But now He stands strange, uncompanied, vast. 
Tall as all solemn, purpling mountains are — 
Stands, while majestic, crumbling centuries 

waste. 
The moaning travail of His soul is past. 
He hath throned Love and wrought Redemp- 
tion far; 
And who believeth on Him shall not haste. 



223 



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